Like every parent, I have children and with those come other problems.  My oldest son Justice was getting picked on at elementary school and my youngest, Houston Jr., expected me to change his diaper and on top of that even feed him, god!  The only thing that wasn’t a problem was my husband Houston Sr. and that’s because after a long day of work, he would come home and drill me with love. 

I recently started to have body issues again but this time I decided to not have plastic surgery to solve them.  I had a husband who loved me for me and I didn’t need to look young and fit anymore.  Being in my 40s with the stress of parenthood and the joy of foodhood, I began to love food in ways I hadn’t before or had previously accepted within myself.  Food food food.  Have you ever taken taco shells, filled them with ice cream, dipped them in magic shell chocolate, and eaten them one after the other while shooting whipped cream in your mouth crying over reruns of 1980s daytime soap operas till the housecleaning pills kicked in? I have.

I was cleaning when my friend Mary and her son Quinoa came to visit.  I gave Quinoa a granola bar and sat down with Mary for an afternoon martini.

After taking a sip of my drink, I informed, “I’ve decided to stop getting plastic surgery.”

Mary was pleased, “Oh good, at that last botox party where you played Pin the Needle on My Face, that really hurt me, and I still can’t smile or even smize either.”

“You’ll be able to in 4 months,” I assured and then continued, “Well, I’m still doing botox… but separately, I’m fat I don’t care, I lost my hair I don’t care, my tits sag I don’t care...”

Mary looked at my tits, “Yeah, what happened to your tits, they used to be legend?”

I gulped down the rest of my martini, “I said I don’t care.”

“They look like they were attacked by alligators and crocodiles,” She summarized.

I glared at her and then asked, “What kind of fucked up name is Quinoa?”

“Hey!” Quinoa protested, “I like my name and this granola bar has preservatives!”

I continued, “It’s like naming your kid Oven Mitt, hey Oven Mitt come here and tell mommy she’s pretty till she stops crying,” I mocked.

Mary gulped down her drink and then chided, “Your son’s name is Justice and he’s made fun of at school every day because of it, whose fault is that?  It’s your fault Dean… and my Quinoa is home schooled so he doesn’t even have that problem, right Quinoa, now make Uncle Dean and your pretty mommy a drink like I taught you in home school.”

“Ha ha ha,” I laughed.

Justice was then dropped off at home by his carpool and he came into the house crying about how all the kids made fun of him again, I was heartbroken.

“They called me Equal Rights Gay Justice all day daddy,” He sobbed.

I wiped his tears, “Oh honey, that makes you sound like a super hero doesn’t it?”  and that remark only made him cry a new batch of tears. 

Mary put her hand on my shoulder and suggested, “Dean, you should go to his school and really give it to those bullies.”

Mary was right, I needed to stick up for my son and teach those bastards a lesson!  The next day, I put on a disguise (because I’m banned from Justice’s school long story) and hid outside the window of his classroom until the teacher stepped out to the hall for a few minutes during class.  While the kids were alone, they started throwing crumpled up papers at my boy while calling him names, it was awful to witness.  I couldn’t take it anymore and I climbed in through the window to all of their surprise.

“Who are you?” One kid asked, “why are you dressed like a pirate?” another wondered.

I scratching my head with my hook and then spoke out to them, “Who here has made it? Who here has made it and is really proud of where they are at in life?  Raise your hands if you have, raise them up.  Hmmm.  I find that interesting.  I find it phenomenal that some of you have raised your hands.  I know there are some of you that did not raise your hands but wanted to and I know that’s true.  How true do you think your response to my question is?  How true are you to yourself? There are moments when you think you have discovered truth, truth in a video game, truth in a figurine, but truth in that form is malleably flawed, try holding that same toy doll twenty years from now and that truth will change into countless denominations and too many to ever feel the simple truth of its original nature.  We are all shackled by endlessly attempting to reconcile our inconsistencies.  Be honest with the realization that your honesty is not truth.  Love your family.  Never lie to yourself. Have fun.  Sometimes people ask me why I’m not like everyone else and why I don’t bleach my anus like I’m supposed to.  I don’t need to.  I simply decolorize those online photos and by the time somebody sees it in the flesh, it’s too late and they’re too horny to go home.  That was before I was married.  Any questions?” there were no questions so I quickly left back out the window before the teacher returned.

After school that day, Justice came to me and gave me a big hug.

“I love you daddy, you’re special daddy,” He said while embracing me.

“I love you too son,” I teared.

Justice then let go of me, took a step back, and looked me in the eye, “I’m going to handle my own problems from now on.”