Filial respect, Part II

We saw The Wolf of Wall Street last night. Afterwards, I asked my son if the movie made him want to work on Wall Street. He said no, but it did make him want to party more, and maybe take drugs. I warned him that cocaine (which along with Quaaludes is prominently featured in the film) was addictive. He asked where I'd rank it on a one to ten scale of addictiveness. He explained, "You know, with heroin as a ten. And a one would be, say, burning your hand on a stove -- or reading Just Not Said."

Maybe it's just my skewed perception, but filial piety seems to be lacking in my son. His favorite names for me are Colonel Raisin Balls, Vagisaurus Rex, Emperor Menstruatious, and Ovulato. (Seriously.)

Earlier this week I took him to Macy's to buy him a sport coat; he expressed his gratitude by saying, "Jesus Christ, all this enforced togetherness time is really making me crazy."

When he first got back from the Army, I made the mistake of telling him a couple times, "I'm so happy you got back safe and sound from Afghanistan."

His response to that usually ran along the lines of, "My god, you are the worst buzz kill ever. There's absolutely no one who can so totally ruin a good vibe like you. I'm having a good time, I've got everybody laughing, and you have to spoil it by saying that."

He would then imitate me in an exaggerated sad sack voice, and add,  "Great, another Downer Dad Attack."

There are times when he's kinder though. Why, just two days ago he said, "You know, looking at your wrinkles and emaciated body, I realize what you are: my own personal memento mori." (A memento mori is a reminder of one's mortality).