Su-ba-ru

We were driving home and I noticed the Subaru Forester had cracked 300 miles on one tank. I cheered the car for the milestone, but Sarah said "uh oh." I was celebrating the efficency and Sarah was realizing that the car had to be about out of gas. It's who she is. It's who I am. And when the boys asked why were laughing so hard, it was easy to explain: we're different.

I've written it at least ten times--and those brilliant assholes who scribe the show Modern Family expressed it brilliantly in the episode Punkin Chunkin'--that I'm the kite and Sarah is the tether. Sometimes I lift her up, but when shit gets a little too hairy, she reels me back to the ground. It works. Sometimes it bugs the shit out of me, but I can't imagine how Sarah felt when about a year ago today I woke up and said, "I'm going to do 100 comedy shows in 10 days!" The kite broke loose for a while, but every night it ran out of wind and came crashing down to home.

We don't know what we've done to our boys. At least genetically they could end up with a host of issues, or as my mother in law says, things they've "come by honestly." Other than crazy love for our kids, Sarah and I have three things in common:

1. Stubborn. Dumb stubborn. Our stubbornnesses are different. Sarah, for example, won't budge on--Christ I don't know. But she's got this clinging to weird traditional shit when you least expect it. Mine is the kind of thing that YouTube videos are made of. Before YouTube it would have been Rescue 911, in that I don't care what odds are against me, I'm going to leap off a bridge/drive fast on an icy road/carry this couch by myself (in order of age-advancing risk) no matter what awfulness could befall me.
2. Our sarcasm. I'm worse, but Sarah's got a nuclear sneak attack that will have you scrambling for shelter.
3. Our loathing of bullshit. Corporate bullshit. Televised bullshit (local news). Personal-level smiling-and-saying-nothing-while-talking bullshit.

I'd also add a #4, in that we're both extremely self conscious. You might look at that and ask, "What in the fuck have you done to your progeny?" And we'd sarcastically respond, "Oh, just riddle them with a lifetime of skepticism in the oncoming specter of richer-than-fuck kids loaded on legal speed and Ivy League enemas."

Goddamn, it's tough raising little ones wondering about all the things you only recently realized are wrong with you. Euthanization is only a facetious joke, but you do feel very sorry for the young you've trotted into the world with the attitude of a donkey and Michael Moore. There's something brilliant out there for them, except we may be the first people to hire a nanny for their kids after college. We're just too damn cynical to encourage anybody after 16 tornadoes just tore up 11 states. It seems more like a world for Mad Max shop class enthusiasm rather than a life in a cubicle. (If you can find it after the storm--see?)

So the kite and the tether cried tears of laughter with their sperm/egg combos shouting questions about what was wrong with their mom and dad. I said, "I'd wonder the same thing too," to the inquiring boys. And to tell them the truth, we were having a cathartic moment after months of new jobs, shit salaries and sometimes seemingly insurmountable life obstacles.

There's a two-edged sword to being who we are. We can create. Goddamn we can create, and to bring that to an earthly level, I mean Sarah can work magic with an Excel spreadsheet. She has coworkers backing away in silent reverence at the new girl's ability to spin some serious mojo on Microsoft Suite. The other side of the sword? We could give two shits about for whom we're creating. That is to say, "We're nearly developmentally disabled on our own, so we still need you, corporate narcissist, to cut us a bi-weekly check for our efforts."

It's OK. It's OK in that someone is still paying us, and that every day we chip away at the granite between us and ourselves. Yah, whatever. But we're in there, and we're tapping away at the self doubt.

The Subaru did get nearly 21 miles to the gallon city driving, which for Sarah and me isn't enough (and bothers the shit out of us how many NPR listeners drive them around like they're doing something good). But what was impressive was the sperm/egg combo. No kites. No wind...or winds of skeptical subversion. Just two kids interrogating us from the backseat of an inefficient used car.

Yah, we made them. 

Comments

[Jo Myers]

I tweeted that. People need to read it.

[Clint Harris]

You need a 2 Pac-esque stomach tat that says "SUBARU LIFE". I remember the one you drove in high school and how we marveled at its ability to make it to Walden every day, regardless of what fury the weather gods decided to lay upon Gould. Those cars are amazing. As for your kids, bless you both. The last thing we need in this world is less cynicism and more Sean Hannitys (Hannities? Hanitities?) I hate my job, but understand it is a necessary evil if I expect my family to not starve. Which sucks, but there is always civil disobedience for that.