Take Your HellSpawn to Work Day

OR

How Daddy and I Wasted 8 Hours on the Clock

"i promise to respect your job now!"

Today was Bring Your Brat to Work Day. Since federal laws have been passed to prevent me from breeding, I was unable to participate. So all day I walked the halls one way while on the other side I observed a procession of executives holding hands with tiny clones of themselves. It was kind of like seeing a visual representation of the emotional baggage each employee lugs around every day. Kinda cute.

But I wasn't totally left out. On three separate occasions, somebody came up to me and asked, "Aww. Poor little guy. Did you lose your Mommy or Daddy?" Just because I'm crying doesn't mean I'm lost, okay? One guy promised to make it all better but after he led me into the parking lot, I realized he was just trying to bait me into his car. No candy from strangers! I always forget that one.

"have you ever seen a gladiator movie, Timmy?"

Apparently manners were not on the lesson plan today. More than a few of these little monsters stared open-mouthed at the 2-inch gash on my forehead (don't ask) as they walked by. Two of them actually had the nerve to point and ask, "How dat happen?"

Wanting to do my part to teach the youth, I pointed to the wound and shouted, "This is what happens when you don't clean your room!" Mommy was not amused.

When I got to work this morning, I headed to the restroom. When I saw three adult males, each holding a small boy up to a different urinal, I was ready to call the cops. But then I remembered what day it was. Usually you get 8-to-10 for that sort of thing.

"Umm... I'm still waiting on that coffee."

Having kids in a workplace is a complete distraction. First of all, they take like 10 smoke breaks a day. It's not fair. Their lungs are smaller. They should get fewer breaks. Not more.

The company might also be in some serious legal trouble. The National Organization for Women has already received dozens of complaints about the female employees not being able to do their jobs today. Apparently they couldn't attend any meetings as some person(s) posted signs outside the conference rooms that read, "NO GIRRLS ALOWED!"

My opinion is that the whole thing is just bad news. I don't know how it happened, but someone's kid managed to change the entire employee benefits plan. Health insurance has now been replaced by "free cookies before bedtime." Darn kids.

the original 'bring your child to work day'

Saturday Morning Melancholies

I swore I would never speak that phrase. Those five dirty little words snuck up on me and jumped out of my mouth before I could realize what I’d done. It happened as I was telling a friend about baby-sitting my toddler cousins.

"Children’s television today is just awful. It sure isn’t as good as..." And as I completed my sentence, it was as if I weren’t actually speaking, but instead watching someone else pronounce the words for me in slow motion. "when... I... was... a... kid."

And with that, my childhood was officially over. I was confused. I thought I would never meet a cartoon I didn’t like. I don’t even remember what show it was that brought me to this conclusion. It probably involved Japanimation. My first response was to defend my claim. I suddenly thought of my favorite programs from my youth. The Gummi Bears, Mr. Wizard, The Smurfs, Looney Tunes. Surely these shows were the established apex of children’s entertainment. I quickly theorized that television must have gotten worse since my cartoon watching days. It couldn’t be that I had (gulp!) outgrown kids’ shows.

I decided to root through an old box of VHS tapes I kept and watch a few episodes of the shows I enjoyed as a youngster. It was during this trip back into the television watching days of my youth that something horrible happened.

There was a time in my life when not a single Saturday morning passed without the Gummi Bears bounding into my living room. But as I now watched them chug their precious Gummi juice, bounce off the walls and foil the bad guys, I saw them for what they really were: alcohol abusing animals. Whenever trouble came their way, they never hesitated to turn to the bottle for a solution. What kind of a message was this?

Then there was Mr. Wizard. Dear Mr. Wizard. I thought nothing could tarnish the image of a man dedicated to educating children on the wonders of science.

I remember energetically leaping out of bed before 8am just to see what excitement Mr. Wizard had planned for the day. But as I watched through more mature eyes, I saw that he was just going through junk lying around in his kitchen.

"Pay close attention, boys and girls. When I apply a thin layer of Palm Olive to this dirty pan, the grease magically disappears due to chemical reactions happening before our very eyes. Go ahead. Now you do the rest."

That's not science. He was doing his chores. He was probably just trying to make a quick buck while keeping Mrs. Wizard off his back. What a crook.

Not even the Smurfs were free from my newfound criticism of classic television. One female in the entire village? And she was the "most generous" Smurf of all? It’s so clear to me now. Smurfette was a whore.

Even after I accept her as such, I realize there is still no way for this nymphomaniac sprite to please an entire village. Reflecting on my own experience in a prudish high school relationship opened my eyes. The blueish hue of the Smurf skin tone was not Mother Nature's doing. It seems that those boys were suffering from an extreme case of blue balls.

Yet more troubling, a new light shone from the TV glow as I watched an older alpha male spending his time alone in his private quarters, counseling the young and troubled, prefering to be called "Papa." Papa Smurf was just a dirty, old pedophile.

Drunks? Sluts and perverts? Blue balls? I was horrified (though it does explain most of my own eccentricities). The programs I had grown up with were turning out to be nothing more than support for deviant lifestyles aimed at impressionable viewers.

Suddenly, I saw the secret filth abundant in all the programs I once thought so innocent. Bugs, Daffy and the rest of the Looney Tunes gang were masochistic fiends who derived sick, sexual pleasures from torturing the innocent and the intellectually feeble. Wile E. Coyote practically gave a weekly How-To guide for overly elaborate suicide methods. It would not surprise me at all if it turned out that he proved to be the single biggest influence on a young Dr. Kevorkian.

I began to wonder about the potential messages of other shows. Was Spiderman a Peeping Tom? Were He-Man and She-Ra engaged in a power-hungry union based on incest? Did the Care Bears even give a shit about anybody else?

So I now find myself at a loss, trying to come to grips with a confused childhood by immersing myself in contemporary children’s programming. I’m only five minutes into my first episode of Sponge Bob, Square Pants and already I’m wondering if that manic depressive Coyote makes house calls.

Childhood Journals

Last week, I was going through some of my belongings in my childhood bedroom and I happened to stumble upon a journal from my youth. My curiosity piqued, I immediately sat down and read my childhood thoughts, expecting equal parts nostalgia and entertainment. The following are some of the most interesting excerpts I found during my journey back through childhood. These excerpts are word for word and have not been altered in any way.

November 4, 1987
Today I made everybody laugh when stinky Tommy Henderson walked in and I said "What's up, Poopie King?" Brad Taylor laughed so hard, he even peed his pants. Luckily, his mom doesn't think he's emotionally ready for real underpants and makes him wear a diaper, so there wasn't a big mess. I have a feeling that the diaper thing is going to be a source of some serious issues with Brad. Later, Zac, the fastest kid in school, said that I was "pretty cool." I'm going to see if he wants to come over to play G.I. Joe and be my best friend tomorrow.

November 5, 1987
Tommy Henderson punched me in the arm today and called me a "Poopie Head." What the hell is his problem? I never did anything to him. Jeez. And what's with that language? Poopie is such an immature word. Poopie. Haha. That's gold!

December 25, 1987
Today might just be the greatest day in my life. It was even better than the time Pop pop and me ate a bowl of ice cream before dinner and then he let me stay up until 9 p.m. while we watched Scooby Doo. It's Christmas and even though I don't remember last year or the one before that, I know this year is the best one. I got a new teddy bear and I'm going to call him Baby, because I'm not the baby anymore, he is. I feel kind of bad about getting rid of my old teddy bear, Teddy. But Baby is so cool. Teddy was falling apart anyway. His stuffing was coming out of his stomach and his left eye was always falling out and dangling by a thread. I don't want to look at that. Baby is shiny and so soft. I love Baby.

January 11, 1988
It's been a week since I lost Baby and I've haven't been this upset since the time I got yelled at for teaching my baby cousin how to fall down the steps. We only spent 10 days together, but they were wonderful. He would pretend to be an evil villain or my sidekick or whatever I wanted. I just feel so alone since Baby's gone. I guess now I know how Teddy felt. Maybe I shouldn't have thrown him away so carelessly. What am I doing? I can't just keep looking for happiness in the arms of a stuffed bear. I have to find the happiness inside of me before I can share it with another. I want my Baby back.

February 14, 1988
Today was the best day ever. Jamie Tomkins, the cutest girl in glass, kicked me in the shins today. I don't know how it happened. We were just sitting on the swings and all of a sudden she kissed me. Then she kicked me and ran away. The kiss was gross, but man, that girl can kick! I think I may end up marrying her. Next time we play kickball, I'm going to pick her first. Well, not first first, but first of the girls. I'm not picking a girl first. That's just crazy.

February 15, 1988
Today is the worst day ever. I went out to recess and walked over to Jamie to say hi. But she was punching Brad Taylor in the stomach. The diaper guy. What did I do wrong? Why wasn't I the one she was punching? Was it because I cried when she kicked me yesterday? I was just trying to show her my sensitive side. And where does she get off punching him in the stomach? That's second base! I only got kicked in the legs. What a tramp. I'm just so confused, I don't know what I'm feeling. I asked her best-friend-for-life, Jenny Simmons, to push me in the mud or spit on me or something to make Jamie jealous. But she said something about not being a whore and that she wouldn't be ready to be used like that until she was 17. Just my luck.

March 21, 1987
I think I failed my shapes test today. Who gives a damn what the difference between a circle and a rectangle is? I hate math. I want to be Superman when I grow up and Superman doesn't need math.

April 15, 1988
Today is my 6th birthday. God, I feel old. It seems like just yesterday I was 5. Where does the time go? We were playing tag at recess today and the whole time something was bothering me. I ran and ran and I just couldn't figure out what it was. At the end, Mrs. Clapper gave me a gold star for making it through the entire recess without being "it." Afterwards, I just stood in the schoolyard, staring at my reward. Then I realized what it was that had been bothering me. I'm six years old and I've practically made a career out of running away. What am I running from? My fears, I suppose. I decided then and there that I can't keep running away from my problems. I have to confront them head on and be in control. I must be the one who is "it." That's the only way I can get some direction back in my life. I decided to share my thoughts with my best friend Will Patterson. See, he was "it" for an entire recess period last week. He told me something I'll never forget:

"I'd never felt so helpless before that day. I ran and ran in every direction, but nothing I did mattered. I couldn't catch anybody, not even 'Diaper Boy Brad.' All of the other kids were just laughing at me. It made me stop and think. What is it that I'm chasing after anyway? False hopes? Empty dreams? I just keep going around and around aimlessly; without direction. Maybe I'm not really the one doing the chasing here. Maybe I'm really running away from something. It could be anything. The point is, I realized then and there that something had to change."

I immediately realized what a complete freak Will is. The kid really has problems. I can't be friends with some overly emotional, analytical jackass. Everybody was watching us as he said this, so I pushed him on the ground, stepped on his chest and proclaimed myself, "King of the Will." Everybody laughed like bastards. Then we went and played tag.

Why Childhood Was More Fun

As I find myself at the dawn of adulthood, on the cusp of maturity, I can't help but pine for the simple, joy-filled days of childhood. Days when the most difficult decision to make was whether to watch "The Smurfs" or "Scooby Doo." I know it's an easy one, but at the time bright colors and goofy voices were the very definition of quality programming.

Unfortunately, it seems that many of the cherished aspects of childhood just don't seem to fit in the grown-up world. If you turned to a coworker, smacked him in the back of the head for no reason and upon being asked why, only replied, "I dunno," you'd be looking at an assault charge. Do the same in kindergarten and all you have to do is have Mom write a note saying that you have attention deficit disorder and you're free to go slaphappy whenever you like. "Oh, don't mind him. He has A.D.D." I hate change.

Another aspect of childhood that just doesn't seem to work anymore is the ease of waking up early in the morning. I will forever be perplexed at a child's ability to spring to life during pre-dawn hours with the energy and tenacity of a wildebeest. For some reason, full-grown adults are not meant to be awake before 10 am. Is there really anyone out there who likes their alarm clock? No. I'll bet that the first time a rooster crowed at sunrise was also the first day anyone had fried chicken for dinner.

Regardless of these isolated items, I think it's about time we brought childhood back. I think that applying childhood rules to the workplace would make things a lot more efficient. Imagine an argument during a typical meeting:

"... so I think if we reinvest our dividends in mutual funds, we'll be looking good."

"Henry, I gotta tell you. I think you're just plain wrong on this one."

"I don't think so, Marge."

The boss steps in and says, "Well there's only one way to settle this then: the 50-yard dash!"

The crowd gasps.

That's right, the 50-yard dash: the final and definitive measure to separate the kids from the... uh... slower kids. In my neighborhood, the fastest kid was always the most revered and therefore he was always right. It didn't matter that he couldn't tie his own shoes or that he only bathed on a biweekly basis. He was fastest, so he was king.

Dating as I see it is far too complex could therefore use a dose of childhood as well. I say we go back to schoolyard rules. If I punch you in the arm and you smile, we're boyfriend and girlfriend until you accept the punch of another. There's no room for miscommunication or mixed signals. Of course, the next phase of relationships would be the sitting in a tree, followed by the K-I-S-S-I-N-G and so forth.

By the way, whatever happened to recess? Somehow, that brief opportunity to stop and engage in the social or physical activity of one's choosing for 20 minutes after lunch faded sometime around the onset of puberty. Well, I think it's about time we brought it back. Recess, not puberty. Imagine how much happier everyone would be if their company instituted mandatory kickball games every day at 2:30. The losers would have to go back to work, while the winners would get first dibs on the best spots on the reading rug. It's a win-win situation. Well, except for the losers. So I guess it's more of a win-lose situation. But who cares? Kickball!

In conclusion, I'd like to offer everyone the advice of keeping the childhood spirit within alive. Chase each other through the halls without rhyme or reason, but for the sheer childish joy of it. Watch cartoons until your brain rots. Start fights with your sister and say that she started it. Be amazed every time you see a teacher in a public place, confused as you realize that they do exist outside of the classroom and that they are "just like real people." Just do whatever it takes to hold on to the beauty of that innocence. Tag. You're it.