Monday, September 22, 2008


I doodled this while watching my two kids do their homework... picked up a crayola and smeared this out.  Truth is, I love watching them do homework, however, I still can't get used to the idea that they HAVE TO do homework.  
      
I think about when I was a wee little bull, before the sac had dropped and I my sap had run, coming home from a laborious day of academic excellence from the prestigious Delaware Central school (K-8), my face still lined from the day's snot and my belly aching for food since I would very rarely eat my lunch (a problem, at 33, I certainly don't have), me and my brothers barreling off of the bus in a heap of pre adolescent rage, tearing up the lane to beat a path to the fridge in order to scrap the feeble remains of the week's groceries for any junk foody nourishment overlooked on previous days (Thursday was our grocery day...and don't get me wrong, my folks fed us well, but it would run out by Saturday...at least the good stuff...twinkies, chips, coke.  By Monday we were onto the cheese and pickles, and by Wednesday we would have to eat the healthy shit...f@#king apples)...but nary was there a thought or whiff of homework in the air.  Hell no!  After foraging for food, we would be out in the woods, hacking trees down with machetes, polluting the atmosphere with the motor bike, mucking in the stream, playing with dog, watching The Littlest Hobo on CTV (Danger Bay on the CBC when the Hobo got the boot)...that was the plight and mission of our after school existence.  We couldn't read or do math, but we sure did have fun.

          My kids have the opposite experience.  There's the daily homework.  And there's the monthly homework.  And there's the words to practice every week.  And there's the books to read (one a night).  And there's the karate and all the extra curricular crap well bred kids are supposed to be exposed to.  And through it all, their labor and toil, I wonder out loud when they get to play.  

        When I say out loud, I do mean out loud.  As in I sit at the end of the table, drawing stupid cartoons and telling them how much fun I had when I was their age.  Sometimes I bring out photos...although I don't let them look at them because they have work to do.  In two more years I'll have them cleaning up my scenes while I eat cake. 
 
        And why to I torture them in this system massively endorsed by the LA Unified School District?  Because I'm a prick?  No....it's because I want them to grow up and have real jobs so that they can take care of my senile carcass, and perhaps my old age will be the same as my childhood... F-U-N.

It's good to be the Dad. (nothing can go wrong with this plan...nothing).
KP
         

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Bean a wile


busy. work. kids. school. dog. caffeine. vodka. wife. house. work. meatballs. hair. old. tired.

This is the last page. It is still rough. I have six more to key (from the middle). One a year?

Some days I try to figure out how it all adds up and really, when its all said and done, it doesn't. But it must. So it will.

Anybody out there?
KP.