Comparing My 4-Year-Old Son to 1980s Movie Villains

Joe DeProspero has two sons, a wife, and is free birth control for anyone who sits near him in a restaurant. His writing has been described as “outrageous,” “painfully real,” and “downright humiliating.” He talks about the highs and unsettling lows of parenthood while always being entertaining and engaging in the process. He currently lives in New Jersey with his family and can be emailed at jdeprospero@gmail.com or followed on Twitter @JoeDeProspero. He has written a comedy fiction book titled “The Boy in the Wrinkled Shirt” available via Amazon and is currently working on an uncensored parenting humor book, due out in late 2013.

This unmistakable ’80s item represents my current patience level with my kids. “Rewind” is not an option.

I was raised on an unhealthy dose of 1980′s cinema that, if nothing else, outlined the criteria for the type of people I should avoid when I got older. The antagonists in such films as The Karate Kid and Back to the Future were bold, brash, and cared only of their own visceral needs, leaving a trail of well-intentioned, disenchanted (and  brightly colored) victims in their wake. And I’m afraid I’ll end up raising one of these cretins.

I know what you’re thinking. There’s no possible way that my innocent 4-year-old son could be comparable to ’80s movie villains. Well, I happen to believe that the evidence is indisputable. Here are just a few of the reasons why.

He covets my woman

I love my wife. My son, Antonio also loves my wife. Clearly, this presents a conflict of epic proportions. We’ll be at dinner, enjoying a meal, and he’ll reach across the table and grab my wife’s breast. Then he’ll look at me and snicker, as if to say, “These babies are mine.” I then shoot him a look to say, “I was there first. That’s how you got here.” I’m not even sure why I allow him to live with us, really. It’s like having one of her ex-boyfriends sublet our basement.

He threatens to embarrass me with gratuitous, juvenile acts

A few days ago, while I was changing him into his pajamas before bed, he looked deep into my eyes and casually stated, “I’m going to stick my penis in your nose.” I stared at him for several awkward seconds, desperately thinking of a possible retort and subsequent punishment. What did I do in return? I fixed him a bowl of cereal. I mean, he did look hungry. I can easily see Darth Vader threatening the very same act on Luke Skywalker.

He takes my money

I can finally relate to that Kanye West song “Gold Digger.” Because my son will regularly reach right into my pocket, fishing for cash, without asking. He might as well give me a wedgie and toss me in a locker while he’s at it.  And he never, ever pays me back. A triflin’ friend indeed.

He laughs at my misfortunes

Imagine I’ve just stubbed my pinky toe on a coffee table. I’m writhing in pain and liberally shouting expletives. This, apparently, is the pinnacle of comedy for my son. Nothing humors him more than watching me experience acute, excruciating agony. This has Biff written all over it.

He damages my property

This past weekend, I was outside with both my sons, playing in the front yard. Due to the heat wave in the tri-state area, I took my shirt off, laying it on the hood of my car (to the delight of absolutely no one). Minutes later, while I was helping my younger son, Nate get up off the ground, I looked over to discover my shirt sprawled on the driveway. Antonio proceeded to blatantly run over it with his bike, and then back over it for good measure, all while laughing maniacally. In that moment, I could only dream of a truck dumping manure over his well-deserving head.

Occasionally, my son mistakes his bike for an iron.

Ultimately, I hope that I’m raising protagonists and not antagonists. I also hope that, unlike Beetlejuice, my son will soon answer me without having to call him three times. But maybe more than anything else, I hope to have better fashion sense than to dress my kids like my parents dressed me in the ’80s. It would save us both an awkward conversation when they’re old enough to understand humiliation. With that said, I’m going to “make like a tree” and get out of here. I’ll leave you with this.

What do your kids do that reminds you of something dreadful you’ve seen in movies? Feel free to leave your stories, and all other feedback in the comments below!

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