Hey, son, do you have a second? I know things have been crazy lately, so I just wanted to sit down and have a talk. Lay it all out there, y’know? Just so you don’t get the wrong idea about all this.
To be clear, your mother and I are separating. We know these past few weeks have been hard for you, so I just wanted to make one thing clear: it is completely your fault. You see, we never planned on having a child. The plan was always to get a motorboat. A silver one—the kind that shimmers in the sun. The kind that’s perfect for when you want to crack open a beer, crank the engine, and hear it go brrrrrrrrrrrr vrooooom vrooooooom. The kind you name after an ex-girlfriend your mother doesn’t know about until she asks “Hey, who’s Shaylee?” You know the type. Then you came around, but we didn’t have any money for an abortion because we spent it all on a down payment for the boat. Non-refundable, I should add.
So now here we are. No boat and a son who asks us about signing permission slips for “debate competitions” instead of going vroom vroom on the water like Shaylee would’ve. But I want to make it very clear that this whole situation isn’t your mother’s fault or mine—it’s yours. And though this may be tough, don’t think anything’s going to change: your mother and I will still act vaguely indifferent toward your very existence no matter what.
Oh, and just so you know, that “hey, Mom and Dad I wrote a song for you” shit? That drove us fucking crazy.
—J. Bock
