You've Wet Your Bed, Now Sleep In It

We all know for a fact that every single solitary thing that goes wrong in a person’s life, every flaw in one’s being, every bit of sadness they experience, every shortcoming, every unattractive feature, every skill one lacks, every inch of height one fails to grow until one is of a suitable stature to become a basketball star and get rich and famous and yell at cameras that one is not a role model, ALL OF IT can be attributed back to one’s  parents. And of course one’s parents are only flawed because of their parents, who are themselves flawed because of their parents, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum. Buried in the ground somewhere, or perhaps on display in some museum, are the bones of some caveman who is the source of all our problems. Boy, does that fucker need to get an earful.

Someone out there is reading this and taking me seriously. Sigh. 

Not long ago, our friend and former DadCentric contributor BHJ wrote a post challenging this idea. Pshaw, he said. Blaming all your bullshit on your parents is a pointless exercise that gets you nowhere, solves nothing, and ultimately leaves you at square numero uno. Pshaw pshaw pshaw.

But what BHJ fails to take into account is the electrifying thrill that courses through your being the first time you realize that the very people who are charged with taking care of you can also serve as the dumping ground for all that pent-up blame. “You mean I don’t have to accept responsibility for my anger issues/inability to hold a job/meth addiction/flash flood proportion bedwetting? Sweeeeeet.”

I had never spent much time thinking about what point in life a person comes to this realization, but I always assumed it came a bit later. Surely no earlier than the teenage years when one’s parentally-directed angst is frantically working towards its zenith. However, after a conversation between my eldest son and my Babymama the other morning, I may have to revisit some of my assumptions.

SON: I’m all wet!

BABYMAMA: Did you wet your bed, baby?

SON: I did! You gave me too much milk!

BABYMAMA: You mean the milk that you asked for before bed?

SON: Yes! You gave me too much!

BABYMAMA: I gave you the amount you asked for.

SON: It was too much!

Amazing. I never would have thought the blame could start so early. I mean sure, we start screwing them up the very instant they enter the world, but to have them recognize it so soon, it’s a bit daunting. But hey, if it helps my son to feel better about his wet sheets and his gross feeling skin, I’m happy to let him fire off his little blame rockets at his mom.