Which leads me to a fairly major confession about what's wrong with my parenting.
You see, I'm not worried or wishing that my kids will become sports stars. Or the smartest kids in the class.
Or actors.
Or politicians.
Or wealthy.
Or good global citizens (WAIT, I'm getting carried away - yes, I want them to be good global citizens...good grief).
But how FABULOUS would it be if they were like James Taylor and Carole King? Melancholy, amazing musicians.
I mean, really.
I could go to their concerts and, you know, tear-up occasionally about how wonderful they are and they would make everyone happy and everything would be right in the world. And they would never take drugs like all those other melancholy musicians, but rather just hang out and travel and do interesting things. I can see it all - it's right there!
But NO PRESSURE for this first guitar lesson, Henry. NO PRESSURE at all.
I need help.
Maybe I could find it on a country road. Or down in Mexico. I've never really been, but I'd sure like to go.
Wait. Stop it. Seriously, sweet mother of baby james, I need help.
Maybe a sports star (or even a sports participant) wouldn't be half bad.
No comments:
Post a Comment