I’m trying real hard not to hate my son

Before I get started this week, let me just say I love my son. I love him, well, like a son. He was a good kid from Day One, and has grown into a good man, the kind of man a father can be proud of.

That said, I sometimes want to throttle the little twerp--not because of anything bad he does; he’s an adult now and whatever mischief he gets up to these days I’m no longer privy to, which suits me fine.

So why the desire to throttle? I guess there’s no way to soften this one. I’m jealous. It’s as simple as that.

He’s living the life I always dreamed of, but never achieved. Yeah, I know, I know, we’re all supposed to want the best for our kids. And I do, I do. Really. But sometimes, when I’m sitting around in my tatty bathrobe, lunching on Ramen noodles and Fresca, I can’t help but envy his life.

Jordan’s a rep for one of the (formerly) Big Three car companies. As such, he travels all over the country to cities like Miami, Dallas, San Francisco, New York and Boston. He spends his days discussing the merits of the F150 versus the Camry, and being paid well to do so.

In the evenings, he hangs out in expensive hotel bars with beautiful car show models, many of whom he’s dating on a regular, though generally casual, basis. He’s a good-looking, somewhat shy, kid who wears expensive suits and shiny shoes. Girls like him.

It helps that he’s the type of guy who doesn’t seem to know he’s good-looking and doesn’t seem to care that he’s wearing expensive suits or shiny shoes.

He calls, e-mails or texts me at least twice a week, which is nice. He also sends me photos of the places he’s visiting and the people he’s hanging with, which is not so nice. Why? Because they’re far better places and far better people than those that populate my miserable little life.

My friends are all middle-aged, soft-around-the-center geezers, like me. When we get together, we sit around, gripe about the state of this country’s health care system, and wonder where all the good jobs have gone. We drink cheap, domestic beer and dress in clothes from Wal-Mart.

Meanwhile, my son is hobnobbing with gorgeous blondes, the sort who land bit parts in toothpaste commercials. His last girlfriend was an actress who appeared in a few horror films, usually as the coed who runs screaming through the sprinkler system wearing flimsy negligee before being hacked to pieces by a chainsaw-wielding maniac. Not exactly Meryl Streep, but still…an actress, man!

The closest I ever came was dating Sally Hoffmeir, who played Anna in our high school’s production of “The King and I.” Sally was cute, and went on to teach third grade. A noble career, but less glamorous than running through sprinklers with the cameras rolling and a chainsaw loony in hot pursuit.

Oh, I know I shouldn’t complain. I have a good life. My friends may be for the most part old and ugly, but if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that’s the main reason we fit so well together. Birds of a feather and all that. And although The Lovely Mrs. Taylor will never star in a slasher flick, she’s pretty enough to, and she remains a far better woman than a schmuck like me deserves.

So I suppose I’ll just try to be happy for my boy, even when he sends me photos of his band of merry makers frolicking on a Key Largo beach while I’m shoveling a foot of snow off the driveway.

It won’t be easy, but being a parent never is.


Missed a week? More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.