2. When your son is seventeen and living in your second home, inform him ten days before his birthday that his gift will be a swift eviction with a bonus of his own savings. If you are his mother, use a whopping .00019% of the total child support you accrued on the little bastard to buy him a bus ticket to the other side of the Mason-Dixon. Be distracted by your sister's son's needs as he boards that $73 one-way bus out of Bangor.
3. One year later, if you are his father, when he shows up at the door of your third home, freshly booted from said city on the other side of the Mason-Dixon, living on pretzels and gas station tap water, clearly in need of a leg up, convince him to get into your brand-new Chevy Silverado. Pretend that you are going to tolerate his bullshit all the way to New England, but drop him off at the Norfolk bus station. When he rejects your guilt money, angrily get into the driver's seat and begin the long process of convincing yourself that you did the right thing. Never ask him how he ever got out of your iconic and expensive little shore city.
4. Two years after that, when he calls to let you know that he's finally broken down and bitten that military bullet (a thing you had, in your heart, always wanted), simply say, "Okay." When he graduates basic training, be sure that you are not present or even near a telephone for a solid two to three months.
5. When he gets back from the war and he's still alive, schedule half a day with him, since you're passing through DC for your wife's friend's funeral anyway. Be adamant that somehow he should feel guilty for detracting from that, despite that whole thing where the woman once said she'd have him (your son and namesake) killed if she could get away with it.
Whatever you do, never get real and never tell the whole truth.
It is absolutely against the by-laws of Shitty Parenthood to ever visit that little motherfucker, so don't even think about it. It is permitted to drive past his house at least once a week on your way to your wife's family's home with your new son and new daughter, so long as you never stop in. After all, it's not like he needs you for anything.
P. H. Madore is a GwI Associate.
