THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO

I love kids.

From babies to teenagers, no matter what stage they're in, I get a kick out of spending time with them.

I like the way they think and the way they see the world with fresh, unjaded eyes. I enjoy their innocent perspective, their idealism, their energy and yes, even their pathos. Young people can't help but be sincere and it's a welcome relief after spending so much of my time among middle-aged cynics and bitter retirees.

So when my brother called me a few weeks ago from California asking me to play host to his sixteen year-old daughter Katie I jumped at the chance. 

It had been about a year since I saw her last and I was anxious to experience how the world looked to someone just starting out.

They say blood is thicker than molasses but I have to admit that after only a day and a half I thought I was going to lose my mind.

You see Katie came with a friend. A close friend. A friend so close and dear that they clung together like desperate strangers on a crashing plane. Even physically, they folded themselves up into such an intimate clench that one was hard pressed to see where one ended and the other one began. The way they walked together, always in sync and always locked into an almost eerie stare. It was such a struggle to get Katie's attention that after a while I actually stopped trying.

I was relieved when they left and I have to admit I'm still shaken by the whole experience. 

But then again, I'm an old guy so what do I know?

I AINT HURTING ANYBODY

I don't swim but I like to go to the Y on Lake Street, sit with the fellas and watch some of the local ladies work out in their water aerobics class.

Some of the gals find it odd to be watched but heck, why else would the Y have installed that giant window overlooking the pool?

Now not to over-egg the custard but there's something truly magical about a bunch of wet women wiggling their fannies to Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off."

I like Chinese Hot Pot dinners too.

But for some reason nobody finds that objectionable.

I guess that's why I don't like living in the boonies.

FALURE OF COMMUNICATION

My wife Betty and I were in our middle years when we both began to feel a bit crushed by the pressures of child-rearing. Our three girls were all teenagers and every night a new Greek tragedy would unfold in our living room. Kelsey was getting fat, Susie was getting thin and Daphne's eyes were always so bloodshot we were sure she had dysentery.

Needless to say our marriage, rather than being a source of consolation was a bestiary of small slights and major conflagrations.

I felt so desperate at the time that to soothe my ever increasing anxiety I began to compile a list or more precisely, a glossary of our misunderstandings.

I found it the other day and upon reading it I was amazed that Betty and I came out of the whole ordeal more or less in one piece.

I called it "What You Said And What She Heard: A Guide For The Perplexed."

Here are  a few highlights:

HOW WAS WORK? -------------------------------YOUR STUPID JOB IS BENEATH YOUR DIGNITY

WOULD YOU LIKE MORE SALAD? -------------------------------------------------------- YOU'RE FAT

REMEMBER TO PICK UP THE DRY CLEANING --------------------- YOU'RE AN IMBECILE

CAN YOU TURN DOWN THE VOLUME --- YOU THINK MY TASTE IN MUSIC STINKS

DID YOU BUY MILK --------------------------------------- YOU'RE A ROTTEN MOTHER

DAPHNE WAS SUSPENDED FOR SMOKING POT ------- YOU'RE A ROTTEN MOTHER

DAPHNE WAS SUSPENDED FOR DRINKING -------------------- YOU'RE AN ALCOHOLIC

ARE YOU COMING TO BED SOON ---------------------------------------------- I MUST HAVE SEX

WHAT TIME DID YOU GO TO BED LAST NIGHT ------------ ----------YOU'RE A FRIGID BITCH

I'M WALKING THE DOG ------------------------------------------------------------------------- FUCK OFF!

Etcetera, etcetera, you get the idea.

In my old age I've come to the belated realization that true, hard love is something one has to earn. All too often we turn our partners into these diabolical mounds of clay which we knead and mold into conveniently self-defeating forms in order to assuage our savage insecurities.

I retrospect, I don't think I could have survived if I didn't have HBO.  

Or Xanax. 

Or a mistress.