Parenthood | Vol. 1 ​
~ Feb. 26, 2024 ~
​A Weekend Recap by Clay "Claymation" Clump

Hey Reader,

On Saturday morning, I took my kids to the farmer's market over there by the courthouse on 93rd street, you know, just across from the abandoned K-Mart where all the crackheads camp out.

Now, normally, I don't mess with farmer's markets...

There's too many yuppie shit-heads buying radicchios and cucamelons and sunchokes––all these fancy-pants vegetables I ain't even know existed.

Still, my kids insisted.

I guess their mama and her new boyfriend been taking them to the farmer's market to pet some nitwitted alpaca named Steve.

I agreed because I never seen an alpaca before.

In fact, I had mistaken them for one of those dinosaur-looking birds with the great big long necks who run around fast as fuck, laying big ol' dragon eggs.

So, we show up to the farmer's market bright and early.

My kids rush straight to this tent where there are these two gray-haired hippies smoking corn pipes, dressed in all black.

The man wore a black suit, black slacks, black bow-tie; the woman wore a black dress, black clogs, and one of those black veils rich French women sometimes wear.

"Where's Steve?" asked my youngest.

The hippie man frowned, shrugged, and said, "Steve's dead."

"The alpaca's dead?" I asked. "Like, dead-dead? Or play dead."

"Dead," the man said, all stern-like. He gave me this look I didn't appreciate, as if he was annoyed with me or some shit. I didn't like his look, not one bit. I told him as much, too.

"Don't go lowering your eyes at me," I said, "or I'll rip 'em straight out your sockets."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, and puffed his chest a bit, peacocking at me. "I'd like to see you try, tough guy."

"I hope you have a terrific memory because the pictures in your head are the only pictures you'll be able to see once I'm through with you." I pulled my sweater off over my head. "Let's tango, dirtbag."

By now, my kids were all riled up, crying, tugging my pant leg, begging for me to take it easy. I glance around and realize we're causing a bit of a scene. Vendors, customers, and pedestrians alike are eyeing us.

I see a paddy wagon lurking across the street, and––since I'm still on probation for some grade-A bullshit that wasn't even my fault––I decided to cool my jets.

"You better go buy a lottery ticket," I say, "because today's your lucky day."

Back in the car, my kids won't make eye contact with me.

Not even when I bribe them with Chuck-E-Cheese.

"Chuck-E-Cheese sucks," my eldest says.

"Careful," I say. "A mouth like that is fixing for soap. Is that what you want?"

"No," he says.

"You sure? Cause there's a gas station down the street that's got more than enough soap."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"What'd you say?" I say. "Speak up."

"I'm sorry," he says, loud and clear.

"Yea," I say, "that's what I thought."

We drove in silence all the way back to the house. Later that afternoon, I started feeling a bit guilty, like maybe I had been too hard on my kids.

After all, that fish-brained alpaca they liked had just died. I wouldn't be surprised if that big furry idiot was my middle child's only friend.

So I decided to make peace. I baked up a few dozen Bagel Bites, handful of Hot Pockets, and even a casserole dish of Hamburger Helper that had very recently expired. It was my peace offering.

I made peace, and we broke bread.

"How about we start today over?" I asked. "Would you like that?"

My kids all nodded.

"Me too," I said. "I love you boys." I opened my arms. "Now, bring it."

The moral of the story is that Monday is the beginning of your week, just like Saturday morning was the beginning of my weekend.

You have a choice, just like I did. You can either make peace with the fact that this week might not go the way you expect it, and you might get a little frustrated at times, may get a little worked up...

But as long as you got your family, all is right as rain.

Your pal,

Clay

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