I've had my interesting moment for today. I found out that in September, I'll be an uncle.
Yes, the family curse of dysfunctionality can now finally be passed along to another generation!
I knew my sister has been hoping to have a child. I guess it was a bit earlier than I expected. But of course, the best part is I can finally start feeling old! I've been so looking forward to that.
Even more importantly, I can finally earn the title "the funny uncle" (and I don't mean 'humorous'...).
What? What's wrong with me? Where's my enthusiasm?
I've just never really been a "children person", I guess. Of course I'm happy for her, though. I'm just not the type to go ga-ga (ahem) over a baby. There's no real mystery to them. They don't fall in a fiery blaze from the sky only once every thousand years. They're not a newly-discovered extinct species of plant. It's a baby. A lot of people have them! When you plant a tomato seed in the ground, people don't flock from miles around when it sprouts!
Honestly, no, I'm not a bitter person. I just don't see what the huge deal is! I don't hate children at all, mind you (well, maybe the poorly raised, idiot kids who would've had a better chance being raised by wolves than their idiot parents wandering around Wal-Mart at all hours of the night gabbing away on their cell phones, as if choosing potato chips is a national emergency that the world needs broadcast on a minute-by-minute basis). I just like to see the end result before I see if there should be some praise.
I know a single father, raising a young son in Pennsylvania. His son is an incredible kid. Polite, fun-loving, sweet. To me, that's far more worthy of praise than the unknown lying ahead.
Go ahead. Think I'm backward. But the next time you see some child shooting another child on the news, remember: his birth was praised too.