February 20, 2006
I went to see my 94 year-old grandmother yesterday (this time she gave me a tupperware bowl of vegetable soup to take home--- she ALWAYS wants to feed me when I visit!) and when I arrived back home, I saw my next-door neighbor and his wife outside. I walked over to talk to them.
They just had a baby a few days ago. They have a son who is Quinton's age (12), so that's a pretty good gap between young'uns. I congratulated them on their bundle of joy, then asked Mrs. Neighbor if, considering the elapsed time between birthings, she knew what causes babies.
She pointed an accusing finger at Mr. Neighbor. "HE does it," she replied. "I keep telling him to get fixed, but he won't do it."
"Oh, no, man," Mr. Husband said, shaking his head. "I saw how the dog acted after HE got fixed and I don't want no part of that."
I explained that he could "get fixed" WITHOUT losing his jewels the way the dog did. In fact, I told him that the procedure takes about 10 minutes and you get off the table and go home after that. "It ain't bad at all, especially if you like the smell of barbecue," I said.
"Huh? What's barbecue got to do with it?"
I told him The Story of My Vasectomy. (Told earlier here.)
I decided to get neutralized after Quinton was born. He was my second child, so I figured that I had done my part in replenishing the world population and I was getting too old to be having any more kids anyway. I made an appointment with a urologist to have myself altered to an "all juice, no seed" mode.
The operation was quick and easy, with the most unpleasant aspect of the whole thing being when he took a soldering iron and cauterized the cuts he had made inside my jewel-pouch. I saw a wisp of smoke just before the aroma hit my nostrils. It smelled just like roasting pork! (Maybe there IS something to that "all men are swine" mantra chanted by feminists...)
"You need to have that done," Mrs. Neighbor said when I was finished with my tale."
"Barbecue??? You gotta be shittin' me. BARBECUE???" Mr. Neighbor asked. I could tell that he was none too enthused about the idea.
He may not have the er.... balls to get a vascetomy, but I do admire one thing about him. I think he's got the right idea about being a father. Months ago, I told his son that I would sell Quinton's basketball goal to him for $20. (I paid $170 for it. It's a good outfit.) It's not doing anything now except taking up room near my driveway and at least Neighbor Son will use it. He told me not to sell it to anyone else because he wanted it. I agreed.
Mr. Neighbor told me yesterday that his son had saved $18 so far and would have enough money to buy the basketball goal next week if I were still willing to sell it. "You're not gonna buy it for him?" I asked.
"Hell, no," Mr. Neighbor replied. "He can earn the money and buy it himself if he wants it bad enough. He'll appreciate having it more that way."
Just damn! That sounded exactly like something MY father would say when I whined about wanting something when I was 12 years old. I mowed many a lawn and raked leaves in many a yard earning money for that special toy I HAD to have when I was a boy. I don't believe that enough kids get that kind of tough love from parents anymore and I believe that the kids are poorer for it because "GIMME" is all they know. It's NEVER too early to teach a young boy to work and save for what he wants. Do THAT and he'll grow up to be a better man than most.
I don't expect Mr. Neighbor to run out and get a vascetomy, the gutless pussy, but I DO expect his son to buy that basketball goal next week. The boy has been eyeballing it for a while and it's almost within his grasp now. I'll help him move it when he hands me $20. I hope he enjoys it, too, because he EARNED it, even if I am giving him a fantastically low price.
Oh, by the way... did I mention that Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor are BLACK? African-Americans? Hmmm... I don't believe that I did. Well, I'll mention it now, because they are.
That fact should be irrelevant, but it's not in today's world, especially since I'm such a "virulent racist." I confess my TRUE motivations.
I'm selling the kid the basketball goal to keep him busy so he won't be running around raping white wimmen.
All content © Rob Smith