I'm sure there would be a number of people who would judge my parenting methods harshly. Honestly, I'm good with that. I understand having an opinion about how someone else's chooses to do things. While I understand, I don't have to let it alter the way I raise my sons. If people don't like it, fuck 'em.
I know that everything in that none existent yet still hovering just out of reach enough to mess with you parenting handbook would say not to encourage foul mouthed or off-color humor in your children. You know, the same book that just the thought of its very existence somehow made you feel horrible the first few times you let your child cry or eat that slimy ass cookie they'd been gnawing on but dropped on the carpet because you weren't fast enough to grab it out of their hands and frankly, you just didn't want to deal with the screaming and crying that would undoubtedly ensue if you had. The handbook that we all wish we had access to and despite not, still seem to find a way to recite dos and don'ts out of it about how other people do things all fucking day long. Yeah, that handbook.
Thankfully, I lost the desire to follow any such guide through parenthood, as I have never been one to walk a straight line or listen to direction well. I wouldn't say my sons have been my experiments, but they have certainly provided a lesson or two along the way. I can't imagine how they might have turned out if I had such a book because I'm pretty sure they are about all the goddamned awesome I could ever handle in my life.
Because I didn't have access to the rules of parenting and missed out on Parenthood 101, I had to wing a lot. Granted, much of what I have used over the years is either a direct plagiarism from my own parents or some bastardized version of what I remember as a child. Still, these two gems are freaking shiny as hell and the value they possess is damn near immeasurable.
My kids regale me with stories about their day often. I'd likely nod off if their delivery of these happenings was free of any color. The fact that they can use some of the most incredible variety of cuss words to convey the mood of whatever they are attempting to get across is proof positive that I didn't fuck up completely. They know how to employ the proper use of profanity, can keep their audience (whoever they may be) engaged and haven't made me want to drink myself into a coma yet is a pretty good indication that rule books are for sissies. Parenting off the cuff? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I've got that covered. Anyone who thinks I've done it wrong can keep their nose in their supposed copy of the parent's bible and out of my real-life experience. I'll take the inappropriateness, cursing and political incorrectness from my sons any day of the week and call it a job well done - I mean, if some fucking misogynistic, bad-hair wearing, out-of-touch, womanizing egomaniac suffering from delusions of grandeur can be a presidential candidate, then my fucking kids can fucking swear and share tasteless jokes all day, every day. I'm pretty sure nothing they do or nothing I've neglected to do as a parent could ever come close to being as appallingly awful as that asshat is.
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