First Car

Posted on January 5, 2024 by Joe Cummings

Do you remember your first car? Most of us do. For sure.

Well, on Saturday, The-Youngest got his first car. It is way better than my first car (or The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World’s first car).

But why does the first car matter so much?

I’ll get to that in my old and slow way.

My first car was a Cricket Colt. I bought it about a year after I got my license with money I’d earned at Zellers working in department 37/39 pets and plants. How I remember that I worked in department 37/39 mystifies me when I can’t recall someone’s name 2 minutes after I’ve met them. I don’t know. Honestly. How?

However, I loved that car. Red on the outside, white on the inside. It took about an hour to get up to 80mph. Not a single woman ever turned their head and thought, wow, look at that guy in that car.

That’s ok.

It wasn’t about the type of car.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World didn’t have a love affair with her first car, a super classy brown Mustang from the era where Ford said, you know that super cool looking Mustang that sells like crazy, well we’re going to make slower, as boxy looking as a box, and as much fun to drive as a Lada.

Still, there must have been a part of her that loved her car. How could you not, even driving that abomination they called a Mustang?

See, for us, it wasn’t about how expensive the car was (not that either of us could afford an expensive car). No, it was about freedom!

Freedom.

For me, it was freedom to get to work. Freedom to pick up my girlfriend. Freedom to race the other kids in their cars through the streets and alleys of Victoria. I could go to a movie, McDonald’s, or my nerdy D&D stores any time I wanted.

Freedom, baby.

And now, much to our stress, The-Youngest has a car.

In typical fashion, he’d done weeks and weeks of research – sometimes with his mom. He knew he needed room for his skis and mountain bike. He knew he needed to be able to drive in all conditions, but didn’t need any off-road, Mad Max capabilities (much to my sadness).

Then, with a list in hand, he and his mom went on a test drive marathon. There’s a whole blog there but the short version is that after testing a few cars, a new listing popped up and they immediately booked another test drive.

Turned out that the just-listed car was a steal, but steals don’t happen often unless you’re in Whalley and then steals happen all the time, but, you know, real steals.

The car was amazing and in great condition and so The-Youngest put on his serious thinking face and did some serious thinking. Was this the car for him? It wasn’t a Tesla. It wasn’t a 3500 Ram. It wasn’t a turbo Civic with undercarriage lights and a stereo system in the trunk that can bring down a building.

It was a Kia. Optima. 2015.

And he bought it.

His first car.

No matter what happens in his life. He will remember this car.

He will remember all his firsts. His first drive in his own car. His first Dairy Queeen pick-up. His first ride with his friends. The first time he picks up a girl for a date (and she’ll be super impressed with his car because it is not a Cricket Colt).

His car gives him freedom.

And for a teenager, freedom is everything…

Even if greater freedom comes with greater responsibility.

Posted in Parenting | Tagged , , , | 13 Comments

Joe 3.0 – Making Hard Choices

Posted on July 25, 2023 by Joe Cummings

We all have hard choices in life. To move away from your friends for a better job. To put down your doggeroos. To see John Wick 4 for the 11th time despite it costing about $100 a movie.

Or to sell a car you love.

See, back in 2013, I bought a Mustang. A blue GT 5.0 440hp beast. I had just met the Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and seemed to be coming out of my self-isolation shell.

The car had a beautiful sound and enough room for two young boys in the back (and, little did I know, a HUGE bag of goalie gear.)

It was my mid-life crisis car. You know, get the hot girl, get the hot car, and get a nipple ring.

Well, I did two of those three.

I had always wanted some sort of muscle car ever since my brother and I built used car lots and fill them with fancy cars (then forced my dad to judge who had the best-looking lot). But something grander, a Corvette or even an Audi TT just didn’t seem, well, me.

The Mustang did.

It roared, but not too loudly. It zoom-zoom-zoomed, but not like the newer Teslas which accelerate at the speed of sound. It made all sorts of conversations possible as so many people would walk up to me and talk about their Mustang or how they always wanted one (sadly, no one ever did that for my Civic.)

That car took me on road trips with the boys, got The-Youngest to hockey and baseball practices, and ferried the family to watch The-Oldest transform into a musical genius.

It sported an “I gave blood’ sticker on the dash, a first aid kit under the front seat in case The-Youngest needed it (as he often did), and the steering wheel was well-worn where I death-gripped it drifting. I think The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World will also miss driving the Mustang like a Surrey-Girl with a trunk full of heroin being chased by police helicopters.

But the time had come to sell the old girl (the car – not The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World).

Why?

A part of it was the job. I had to drive into Burnaby and that was costing me a good $120 a week. I had to get a new car. That gas cost was killing me.

As well, though I had to admit it (and if you promise not to tell anyone), I was no longer interested in racing around, drifting on the turns, or eye-balling some young whipper snapper and daring him to beat me to the next light 50 feet away.

I worried too much about parking the car next to another car that might ding her. I worried about the wear and tear of the sun, wind, and rain. I slapped my head every time I misjudged the curb and carved up the wheels.

Besides, another truth was (again, shhhhh), I needed to pay for my new car.

The new car was not a Ferrari or apocalypse-equipped Jeep or a power truck with brass balls hanging from the hitch. No. It was….

A….

Prius.

Ok, laugh if you want, but it seems Joe 3.0 is more practical. One car for another. A fancy, powerful beast for a nice, economical, hybrid that drives in the snow.

See, Joe 3.0 is capable of making hard choices.

It was hard to see the Mustang drive away with someone else. It felt like when The-Oldest left the house. Life was changing for this dinosaur.

And I know as I get older and older, the choices will become harder and harder.

Posted in Parenting, Stepdad | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Joe 3.0 Jobs I’d Do For Free

Posted on July 21, 2023 by Joe Cummings

When looking for a job, I wanted something I’d enjoy, as noted in my blog, something that I wouldn’t take home and stress about, and something that mattered in some small way. However, there were jobs I considered doing for free.

Here are the top 5

  1. HOV lane regulator. I might even pay to do this job. I mean, imagine the satisfaction of pulling over everyone who shouldn’t be in that lane or those who think it’s a super-fast autobahn where they can do any speed they want (usually the same person). Oh, the joy of issuing a $2000 ticket, or delaying them an hour while I figured out how to work the scanner or macing them if they gave me any grief.
  2. Chocolate Bar Tester. Seems easy enough. Bite. Crunch. Yup, that’s good. Bite. Crunch, yup that one needs more crunch. Bite. Crunch. Wait, there shouldn’t be a crunch in the Aero bar, so this one fails.
  3. Masseur for Sofia Vergara: Honestly, there are probably a lot of guys who’d take on a job like that, so my chances of doing this may be zero. However, Joe Manganiello, the massive guy who used to be her husband is no longer in the picture so at least I wouldn’t get murdered for touching his wife.
  4. D-Day Beach History Guide: Or any great historical place, really. As Joe 2.5, I would leap off my couch and run like hell towards the boys if either mentioned they wanted to know more about, say, the Canadians in WW1. I love, love, love history and if I had to do my life over again, I’d have been a history professor. Of course, anyone signing up for my tour may not like it when I tell them to run across Omaha Beach while I shoot at them, but they wanted the ‘full experience.’
  5. Being a part of Matt Mercer’s Critical Role D&D group. Now, they make some serious gold, but I’d happily do it to be part of the story he weaves, be a part of the group that really roleplays their characters, and be across from Laura Bailey (and sigh after saying, Laura you look so lovely today.) I may have to watch out for the giant Travis if he catches me looking at his wife the entire session, though.

I know just before I got my job, I was going to sign up to run D&D games for kids in the hospital (and once work settles down, I just might book off a day each week to do that.)

What job would you do for free?

Posted in Parenting | 8 Comments

The Journey to Joe 3.0

Posted on June 26, 2023 by Joe Cummings

This whole empty nest thing happens faster than I ever thought possible.

Not that the nest is completely empty but The-Youngest has reached that point where he’d rather poke a rusty needle into newly discovered private parts than spend an evening watching Ted Lasso with us.

I knew in my heart that this day would come and so I honestly treasured all the time I got to spend with them. I got to be there for a lot of the ‘firsts’. I got to experience theme parks through the eyes of excited children. I even got to talk to them about history any time they needed to know about history (however, my sex talk with The-Youngest was a disastrous mixture of awkwardness, overuse of the word condom, and a few spectacularly inappropriate miming gestures.)

But it’s like knowing your dog will pass away – Knowing and living it are not the same thing.

It took me a little time to realize that my life had changed while I was eating a tub of ice cream and worrying about that time coming. I found I was not writing. Not creating exciting D&D content. Not gaming much. Not doing anything of real value or worth.

In short, I was not being the best Joe possible.

I was depressed.

So what to do about that?

Stop eating donuts?

Hard no.

Go for a run every day?

Harder no.

Create a garden in the back and grow all our food (including buying a bunch of chickens and a few milky cows)?

Way too smelly.

Then I realized I was coming at this the wrong way. Being depressed had pushed my anxieties through the roof (and no wonder, really, has anyone looked at the state of the world lately? Or our middle class?)

But there are things I can fix and things I can’t. First up, stop that anxiety.

I went to the doctor and got medication.

I hate taking meds for things like this but it was the first step in getting back the best Joe possible.

Then I looked at what made me anxious. Money was the number one item. With inflation, my house value falling and my investments barely holding their own, it was time to fix that.

How do you fix that?

Get a job.

Yes. Me. At age 60.

But what job could I do? Or, more importantly, what job could I do that wouldn’t end with me either in jail or a mental institute.

Retail?

Super hard, hell no. I could make a pretty good salary there as a regional manager but I’d had enough of the 3am calls to fix something, and there was no way I’d go back to a store.

“I’d like to return this.”

Me: “Do you have a receipt?”

“No.”

Me: “Ok, we can give you store credit.”

“I don’t want store credit, I want cash.”:

Me: “We can’t give you cash back without a receipt. I’m sorry. Wait, that’s not even something we carry.”

“I don’t care. I want my cash back. You can send it back to the manufacturer.”

Old me would say, “I’m so sorry, we won’t be able to help you today.” I’d usually say it about 20 times before they leapt over the counter and attacked me.

Today, I would say, “Are you insane, you pee-drinking, donkey-licking, heroin baby? Is this your first time shopping, you maggot-mouthed, piggy-eyed, anus-faced walking advertisement for lobotomies?”

My guess is I’d lose that job that same day.

Maybe my life.

So, not management for me. No sirree. Something simple. Something I can do then go home and not worry about hiring new staff, firing someone or finding a way to make our financial goals.

It was (as it often is), The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World who came up with an idea.

Hey, why not be a Lifelabs driver? You like to drive. You can make a difference in the world. And you can get out of the house and stop greeting me when I come home like a lost puppy.

I checked them out.

There was an opening.

I applied.

And just like that, I got my first job in a very, very long while.

But was I moving in the right direction? Or had I leaped off the Titanic onto a sinking wooden pallet with sad music playing?

Posted in family, Parenting, Stepdad | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Joe 3.0

Posted on June 19, 2023 by Joe Cummings

When do you recognize your life has moved on to a new phase?

When you get your first job? When your first baby arrives? When you find your first grey hair? When you realize that you’re in the last quarter of your life and your team is down 22-1?

For me, Joe 1.0 was a good thirty years of work and travel and more work to pay for more travel, and buying a house, selling it, building a new one and a near-death experience while on a Greek highway.

Joe 2.0 was a life I began after Margot passed, when my friends rallied to make sure I made it through the hard years, where I tried traveling by myself and found I hated it, and when I eventually found the Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World.

Joe 2.5 was my life as a stepdad and husband and scorekeeper and driving force behind trips to the Grand Canyon, Disney World, and the odd local treasure hunt. From 2013 to just recently, I had the privilege of being there for 5am hockey practices, band concerts, massive Minecraft games, skinned knees, banging pans during covid lockdowns, zip-lining in terror, chaperoning a camping trip, dismantling a backyard pool, and measuring on the wall beside the family room as the boys grew and grew.

I was the family photographer (nay, the family chronicler as I wrote about life as a stepdad). I tried to teach them how to cook, how to play chess, and how to tie and tie. I always tried to find that balance between giving the boys space and making sure I was there when they needed support, companionship or someone to tell them why Star Wars: The Phantom Menace was a disaster.

But time has come for Joe 2.5 to move into Joe 3.0

See, The-Oldest is currently at UBC working on his Music Degree (in Composition). He no longer lives with us and I miss him terribly.

As well, the-Youngest has managed to transform himself into a super cool, super fit16-year-old who spends about 20 of 24 hours a day talking to his friends online, shopping with his friends to get cool socks or going on amazing skiing/mountain biking adventures…with his friends.

Seems I am no longer needed.

Or rather, now that I’m not watching Big Trouble in Little China with The-Oldest or sitting on a baseball park bench praying no one gets a hit since I’m not sure how to record who caught it, who they threw to, then who that person threw to and what position each thrower played in, what to do?

What to do?

Time to become Joe 3.0

But what does that look like?

I’ll tell you next week how it starts.

Posted in Parenting | 2 Comments

What Do You Do on a Dog’s Last Day?

Posted on March 29, 2023 by Joe Cummings

That day always comes. Way too early.

For our doggeroo, Vegas, it took 16 years for her time to come – but her time has come.

I’ve had 3 dogs as an adult. Two Golden Retrievers and one, well, Vegas. She’s technically a Goldendoodle, but had decided long ago that she was going to be her own dog.

Me: There you go, Vegas. Get the ball.

Her: Why?

Or…

Me: Come!

Her: Hard no. It smells way better over here.

Or…

Me: Look! Water! How fun!

Her: It’s wet and it’s cold and I’m going to take a poo right on the path over there. Two poos in fact.

She had been named Vegas by her previous owners. Named Veggies by my nieces, Girlzies by The Oldest. I preferred Spazadoodle or later in her life, Barkadoodle. She’d been called Veg, Vegeroos, Vegamatic, Vegetables, Fluffy Girl, Goobers and of course, Vegas!!!!!!!!! with 9 exclamation points.

But what to do on that last day?

With Juno, our first dog, we took her around to all the people she loved, including Margot’s mom who had been terrified of dogs before she met Juno. For Freya, who barely had the energy to move, I carried her to her three favourite parks and we sat there in the sun, soaking in the smells and warmth.

For Vegas, she never had a favourite park so we had to think of something else, some way to make her last hours her happiest hours despite the pain she was in.

First, lots of cuddles, pats and ear rubbies. She loved ear rubs so much she’d groan.

Then, food. Her favourite was, well, meat. Or treats. So why not both? I went out and bought her a whole Kolbassa sausage and a whole bag of treats. Any time she caught wind of that sausage, she would drool a Lake Superior puddle on the floor, and she’d even fetch a treat, though technically she’d eat it when she found it and not bring it back.

So, good choices.

Then what? Find her arch enemy, the Orange cat, and get it to sit on the fence so Vegas could lose her shit one last time? Or maybe have a friend come over so she could follow them out the door and try to go home with them since it was so harsh where she lived? Or maybe have the pizza guy come by so she could bark at him like he meant to kill everyone in the house?

Those seem to be her favourite things.

But in the end, we simply went out to the front lawn. I held her up so she could sniff around one last time. She got to feel the warm sun on her furry, fur. She could watch the world go by with her cloudy eyes even though I honestly don’t know how much she could see anymore.

I wish I could do more. I wish I could take away her pain and make her eyes see again. I wish she didn’t have to go because her passing will tear another giant hole in my heart.

But her time has come.

When my time comes, I hope they take away my mushy peas and give me a chocolate bar. I hope they give me a chance to smell coffee one last time. And I hope someone says, I love you, I will miss you.

I love you Vegas. I will miss you.

Posted in Parenting | 9 Comments

Elvis Has Left the Building

Posted on September 1, 2022 by Joe Cummings
The-Oldest at Niagara Falls – Ripley’s Believe It or Not Attraction 2022

Well, I’ve often said I’ve loved the ‘firsts’ as a stepdad. Their first day of school. Their first time on a roller-coaster. Their first crushes. Their first time eating too hot curry.

But today, I have a sad ‘first.’ The-Oldest is leaving to attend UBC.  It’ll be his first apartment. His first roommates. His first time away from home.

The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World is a little sad, but she’s mostly excited for him. He’ll learn from the best, laugh and have a drink with students like him who are obsessed with music, and he’ll have a chance to meet so many new people (and by ‘people,’ she means girls.)

The-Youngest said he was super excited to see his brother go. “Now you have more time to spend on me,” and by ‘time,’ he means money. However, I suspect he’s hiding a lot of his feelings (cuz, you know, he’s a teenage boy and they hate to show emotion.)

See, those two have been through a lot together. On the last trip we took, we caught The-Youngest hugging his brother more, talking to him more, and when they slept in the car while we were driving, he’d sleep against his brother.

I think deep down, he’d be writing, “Dear Diary, Today my brother left and I’m sad, but also hungry because Joe forgot to pick up chips, but mostly sad.”

For me, though, I’m profoundly sad. It’s like having your best friend move away.

The-Oldest doing what he loves. At Whistler. 2017

Who knew it would be me wiping away the tears and not The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World.

Sure, everyone says it’s a good thing, that the nest must be emptied and that I’ll eventually move on to another life. Joe 3.0.

But it has been my great honor and pleasure to have The-Oldest in my life. I’ve worried about him, advised him, talked to him about why the Phantom Menace failed so terribly.

I’ve fed him soup when he was sick, given him a hug when the world had beat him up, and listened to him play for hours, though he never knew I was listening.

Together, we’ve played hours and hours of Minecraft. We’ve gone on epic walks, talking about life, the universe and everything.

He’s listened patiently to me while I explain why Napoleon should be called Napoleon the Great or which are the best swear words to use when putting an Ikea shelf together.

As a family, we’ve ridden Disney rides, sailed on sailboats, solved mysteries in downtown Vancouver, saw the rainbow at Niagara Falls, and watched the sunset on the Grand Canyon.

Good times.

Whether or not I’ve had any influence in his life, I cannot say, but he has certainly impacted mine.

He’s made me think about music in a different way. I can no longer watch a movie without listening to the music now or listen to Beethoven without his voice echoing in my head. “You hear the comedy there, right?”

And with his kind heart, his gentle nature, he’s taught me to be a better person.

In truth, he’s turned into a fine young man. Talented. Kind. Caring. Deeply thoughtful. I’ve watched him grow up, gain confidence in himself, and even remember to wear matching socks.

He’s made me laugh, many times, but today, I couldn’t find any laughter as I watched him load up the truck and drive off.

There will be a hole in my life.

I love him.

And I will miss him.

Jackon and his books. 2013
Posted in Parenting | 9 Comments

What Happens When Your Wife is Right?

Posted on July 15, 2022 by Joe Cummings

What do you do? Do you admit you were wrong? Do you hide the truth and never let her know she was right? Do you change your name, move to an island, and declare yourself a king?

Or do you steer into the skid and just accept the utter and complete humiliation?

I know, this is the worst nightmare for most husbands or partners.

Well, I may be forced to admit it.

Mostly because it’s one of those things The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World would notice.

See, we needed a new faucet for our laundry room, so she went out and bought one. She politely asked the knowledgeable clerk what would be best, told him what we had, and gave him a good idea of our price range.

Sounds pretty sensible, right?

In hindsight, it was.

But I found a nifty, high-end one at a massively discounted price – one that had a long spout, could power-wash the paint off a car, and doubled as a bidet.

However, like when I got an 800lb laptop that had the processing power of North Korea, I may have over-thought this one.

My first realization came when I went to install it. Sadly, someone built a mass of shelves under our laundry sink and did something funky with the drainage (and by ‘funky’ I mean not to any code ever written anywhere.)

I didn’t have a small enough head to fit into the tight space.

Worse, all that complex aqua-tech was a difficult install at the best of times, and needed some specific tools that I did not have.

That bummed me out. It meant I would have to bring in a plumber.

When I phoned for one, I asked for a plumber with a small head.

They said they don’t take those kind of requests – which is unfortunate because the more I think about it, the more I think a small-headed plumber would be in great demand.

Anyway, when the movie-star-handsome plumber arrived to install it, he said, “Hmmm, I could put the fancy one in, but it’ll take some time, and time will cost you a lot of money.”

“Like, ah, how much?” I asked.

“See that car out there?”

“The Mustang?”

He nodded. “Like that kind of money.”

“Gotcha.”

“Get a simple one,” he said.

“Like the Moen, 1228 two-hole chrome one?”

“Exactly.”

I didn’t tell him that was what my wife had chosen.

“Send that other one back to Skynet,” he said. “Or wherever you got it.”

“Ok,” I said, hanging my head low.

I went back to the store where I returned the first faucet and rebought it.

“Hey, didn’t I see you the other day?” the clerk asked. “You returned this, right?”

“Nope, not me, another chubby old guy. We’re easy to get mixed up.”

“No, you told us your wife had bought this by mistake.”

I had no answer for that. I made a sound instead. “Errrruhm.”

“Wait, your wife didn’t make a mistake, did she? She was right, wasn’t she?”

“Maybe.”

 “Oh, man, I feel for you, I really do. There’s a support group for husbands who’ve had their lives shattered.”

“Give me the number,” I said.

He shook his head, sadly, like he was about to put down his dog. “There you go, champ. I can’t say it happens to all of us, but it happens to a few. A sad few.”

I went back home.

At least we had a good, working faucet.

Kind of a win, right?

Does it really matter who was right? Especially if it wasn’t me?

Posted in Parenting | 1 Comment

Grandpa? 2022

Posted on March 5, 2022 by Joe Cummings

Today, a little kid asked me, “Are you a grandpa?”

I laughed. “Gosh,” I said. “As of yesterday, no, but I have two boys, 19 and 15, so sooner or later I’ll likely be one.”

And that got me thinking because that’s what I do. I think, then overthink, then worry I’m overthinking then sit down and think about how much thinking I’m doing.

But I didn’t hate the thought of being a grandpa.

I mean, hell, there are a lot of negatives about getting old. I have hip pain., I can’t remember who sat beside me in grade 12 math, and all sorts of things are sagging in ways that are terrifying.

All of that, and more, was supposed to be offset by wisdom, yet even if I have some, no one wants to hear it. No wonder all the old guys sit on the porch and complain about the weather, the kids these days, and how much it hurts to get out of a chair, no one wants to hear their wisdom.

Now don’t get me wrong. Every so often I get asked for my wisdom or advice. The other day The-Youngest came to me and told me about a story he was writing. Then, God bless him, he asked what I thought.

Brilliant idea, I said. Who’s your protagonist? What gets in his way? What’s at stake? Where’s it set? Why does your protagonist have to act now? What’s your theme? What’s your character’s first setback? Did you tie your end into the beginning? What’s your subplot? Is it romance? I love a good romance subplot? Are their unicorns?

I would have gone on, but I ran out of breath. Old age, you know.

“Hold on there, Stephen King,” he said. “My story is 5 pages long. Double spaced.”

Right. Maybe there’s a reason no one asks me anything, it’s like leaping into a hive of intellectual bees with big, opinionated stingers.

Last time he tried to get some Joe-wisdom, he made the mistake of asking me to help him understand how WW2 started. After running around the house, screaming, “OMG, OMG, my dream has come true,” like a little girl who got BTS tickets online, I sat down and gave him my best explanation.

See, the Germans were pretty upset with reparations and territories they lost after WW1, but to really understand why the Allies made them pay so dearly, it’s not just about the devastation and carnage on the battlefield, you have to look at the Franco-Prussian war of 1870, when the Germans imposed even harsher peace terms on the French, all because the French Emperor, Napoleon III wanted to be like the original Napoleon and kick the snot out of the Prussians, who eventually morphed into the Germans, but who, interestingly enough, kept the original Prussian military tradition of Frederick the Great, that one could argue comes from the ancient and somewhat brutal tribes of Germania that fought the Romans. So maybe we start there?

He left at some point before I finished. He mumbled he was getting some milk, but he never came back, and when I saw him, he’d run to the bathroom, “Sorry, Joe, emergency!”

Anyway where was I?

Wait, is this another reason no one wants to hear my wisdom? I go off on a tangent.

Gosh, I’m having some eye-opening moments here.

But back to being a grandpa. I would love to be a grandpa. I’ll get to play with toys, again, and everyone will smile and go, “isn’t that adorable?” as opposed to now when people look at me and judgingly shake their heads.

I know I’ll spoil my grandchild like a Chinese emperor.

And, for at least a few years, they won’t be able to run while I talk about how the Americans won their war of independence.

In other words, I know I’ll be a great grandpa. Wait, that didn’t come out right – not a ‘great-grandpa’, an amazing grandpa.

Now, where is The-Oldest? I need to find him a wife.

Posted in Parenting, Stepdad | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Another First Feb 2022

Posted on February 25, 2022 by Joe Cummings

Being a parent, you kinda need some good things to balance off all the challenges (like, “For the love of Gandalf, will you get off your phone and take the garbage out!”)

To me, a lot of those good things are sharing the ‘firsts’. First words (which I missed), first bike ride, first concussion, first broken bone, first broken heart, first time driving, first rollercoaster, first concert… well, you get the idea.

So I was super excited to have another first in our family.

The-Youngest applied for a job.

The-Oldest never had the need. He concentrated, quite rightly, on his music. He earned scholarships and grants and even the odd paid gig. However, he just didn’t need any money. He’s about the least materialistic person I know. Heck, he doesn’t even want a new piano – he just fixes the old one.

Not The-Youngest, though. He wants the best of everything.

It’s born of obsessively watching YouTubers who aren’t content with a mountain bike from Canadian Tire, oh no, they need a $25,000 bike that is about as light as a sparrow’s fart and has the suspension of a Rolls Royce.

“Mom, can I get the Gold-plated Snoop Dog Diamond 2000 mountain bike?”

“Do you have $25,000 in the bank?”

“I have $5.67.”

“Have you taken out the garbage? You get paid for doing it.”

“What? I didn’t catch that, I’m on my phone.”

However, one cure for wanting the best stuff is getting a job.

When I was his age and wanted something, I had to work to get money for it. My first real job was working on construction sites, cleaning up, and doing all the horrible jobs no one else wanted to do (like wire-brushing the black soot off of burnt beams).

I hated it, but man, did I love the cash.

Now, to be fair, the rules nowadays don’t allow children to work at the age of 3, so The-Youngest had to wait until he was 15. On his birthday, he immediately looked at all the jobs he could apply for, which is to say, one.

He wanted to work at Cineplex – where some of his friends work. I mean, for him, it seemed like the perfect job. He could get free popcorn, he could watch movies for free, and he wouldn’t have to do all the cruel work assignments like we had for him.

Ok, he’d only get a small bag of popcorn for free, couldn’t watch any movies while working, and would likely be forced to work a lot harder than at home, but let’s not put water on his fiery passion to work in a theater.

Unfortunately, there were no jobs in early 2022.

Until yesterday.

He’d been watching the Cineplex site waiting for the moment they posted a job opening. Then, when they posted, he filled out the application so quickly, I think his keyboard actually started to smoke.

But here’s the extra cool thing. He had researched all the right buzz words, knew the Cineplex lingo (like ‘guests’ for clients, and ‘floor’ for cleaneruppers), and referenced all the people who worked there and said Cineplex was awesome.

I was super proud of him. Super proud. If he doesn’t get that job, I will be gobsmacked. Yes, you heard me. Gob. Smacked.

But once the money comes rolling in, he’ll be able to start saving for that Gold-plated Snoop Dog Diamond 2000 mountain bike without having to, you know, take out the trash at our place.

See, freedom is taking out the trash at someone else’s place.

As always, thanks to everyone who takes the time to read this. Please share so I can build my readership and one day sell a book for a billion dollars.

Posted in Parenting | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments