“No pool fence, it’s an eye sore?” My mom declares with punctuated disgust. I reply. “But your grandchildren don’t know how to swim yet. Plus, eye sore sounds a tad dramatic mom. A back tat on Lena Dunham’s backfat in broad daylight is an eyesore. A pool fence drowning prevention device. So, I can throw back a couple without having Drone Coast Guard swooping technology at my disposal to react in real time to my kids sinking like a stone on the spot in your destination pool is an eye sore. You’d think I was pushing for my mother to get the barbed wire fence on an Eli Wiesel novel. Anthony Jeselnik lives, through me unfortunately.
Seven years later, my parents got a netted pool fence around their beautifully tiled, formerly salt-water pool outside of their Scottsdale, Arizona estate home. So, what took so long for my parents to buy into the concept that pool fences work? Preventing avoidable harm to their three grandchildren in the event they sneak into the pool undetected and drown to death as my dad plays Words with Friends with old work friends in Jersey from afar. Simple, I played the take away card, I learned from my IT staffing agency days over the phone with mom, stating,”Build the pool fence or will rescind your invitation to visit despite you paying for it against our will because you don’t respect me as a stay at home shemale dad.”
Now, that we’ve established this visit down to Arizona isn’t a vacation but more of an arranged, strong armed, guilt trip equivalent to winning a free trip on the Price is Right. You can’t reject an arranged, pre-paid for trip, on a six hour flight to Southwest with three kids from Newark or else you’ll come across as a thankless child, like King Lear’s daughter. And I don’t want my parents to think I have less scruples than that classless, mole infested wench. For the record, I never read King Lear, just read the quotes on Goodreads.com.For all I know, King Lear’s daughter has a good reason to hate her father outside of him never raping and beating her, you know the standard high bar of unacceptable, bad to the bone, justifiable residual resentful behavior for mom choosing dads side forevermore.
After my first child was born, my dad made my bundle of joy lose her April fresh smell by making her stink of cigarettes. I flipped out on my dad and my mom didn’t take it very well. After my inspired rant of damnation directed at my dad for the first time in my life ever. My mom calls me and says, “I can’t believe the way you talked to your father. I’ve tried to make your father give up cigarettes but if I have to choose. I choose Dad over you. Can you imagine your mother making it abundantly clear how her co-dependent relationship with your arrogant, asshole dad on occasion, is infinitely more important than conceding my more than legitimate grip as a first time dad? “I chose dad over you.” So, in essence mom, you’re siding with the party of zero compromise, no wonder you’re still with her.
But I can’t complain. My parents got the pool fence and showcased a willingness to compromise after all. If only Nancy Pelosi cared about the safety and protection of other American made children. She’d be induced to make an amendable solution, involving, forking over the cash for a child safety wall along the Mexican, Arizona border to keep other American families feel comfy in AC powered splendor, come rain or shine.