Give Up

My eldest, Panini, is a lost cause. A few months ago, she got her first official boyfriend, some kid with lots of hair theoretically named Mario. The first time Mario came over, I told Panini to make sure he took his shoes off when he came in the house. She claims she told him to, but all I know is that Mario walked right through my front door, kept his stupid-ass Nikes on, barely said hi, and went straight to the basement, where he proceeded to get stains on the carpet and attempt, perhaps successfully, to kiss my daughter. That night, I dreamt of Mario's death.

Mario came over another time and Panini was so absurdly embarrassed about him interacting with anyone in the family that, when he left, she walked him out the basement door and around the side of the house. Turns out that neither Panini nor Mario has any manners.

After her father allegedly threatened to murder Mario, Panini broke up with him and, in less than a week, got herself a new boyfriend, a nice Jewish boy theoretically named Joshua who deferentially looked me in the eye when he shook my hand and said hello. Turns out, however, that Joshua will fail in life because Panini straight beat his ass in H-O-R-S-E. Don't get me wrong; Panini can shoot. But if I were an 8th grade boy and some girl beat me in H-O-R-S-E, I'd end it all right then and there.

Seriously, Joshua. I grew up with two older brothers, and if my 8th grade girlfriend came over and beat me in any athletic competition whatsoever, I literally would not have gone back in the house that night, or ever. I probably would've stayed at a friend's for a night or two and then started walking the dangerous Denver streets and eventually escaped into the Rocky Mountains to find a nice cliff.

Suicide sucks and I'd never suggest it to anyone, but at this point in our lives and, for that matter, the history of the world, I can't and won't encourage anyone to try harder or fight for what's right or struggle for a cause or some clichéd bullshit like that.

My advice is simple: Give up.

Feeling sad or angry about the end of Roe v Wade? Considering signing a change.org petition or calling your local representative? Don't bother. The court is stacked, these legitimately insane judges are going nowhere, and the Democrats are gonna do fuck-all about it. Just don't get pregnant and maybe even stop having sex.

Still trying to find the right job since COVID turned the one you had to shit? Maybe even thinking about switching industries to find some inspiration and purpose? I got a better idea: Retire.

Still trying to lose the weight you gained after turning 40? Stop looking in the mirror.

I've definitely given up on the Boss. She's frustrated with her job, unhappy with the kids' school, annoyed by all the broken shit in our house, no longer entertained by my sense of humor, and generally done being a parent. The other day, she went off on Panini for being a lazy slob and, in a dramatic climax, threw a filthy, half-open Tupperware at Panini's feet which she'd left in her backpack for almost three days. It's no longer a matter of trying to make the Boss happy; I'm just trying to stay out of her way and fart in a different room. Sometimes late at night when I can't watch any more Better Call Saul, I lie on my couch in total darkness and think about how I could put the Boss out of her misery and safely bury her in the backyard because the rats burrowing under our house would slowly decompose her body.

I've given up on OG being cool. OG yells at her parents when they have more than one drink, berates her friends when they curse, and cries on her loveys when, after three fucking hours, we don't allow her to keep working on her school project. Panini is a wanna-be Molly Ringwald from Breakfast Club and OG can't help but be Anthony Michael Hall.

Speaking of Breakfast Club, if only Broosevelt had one ounce, just one tiny sliver of Emilio Estevez in him. Just one little muscle somewhere in his pea-sized body. Just one modicum of athleticism somewhere in his claw-like fingers. Dude loves to play on our indoor hoop and I've tried to teach him how to shoot a real jump-shot, catch a ball, and swing a bat, but my little man just ain't no good, so he ends up on the carpet with his Legos and Harry Potter. Broosevelt, I hereby officially give up on you and our entire relationship. 

I've for sure given up on my teaching career. My students wore masks through the very end of the school year and never took their stupid fucking heads out of their stupid fucking devices. I pass them in the halls and say hi, but really I'm thinking awful, vicious things. On the very last day of school, about an hour before grades were due, this kid G chats me: "Hey Mr. [Saul] I just saw my final grade is an 88 I know it's a long shot but if at all possible could u round it up for me?"

I responded, "Fuck you, your lack of capitalization and punctuation, and your entire life. GIVE UP."

Perhaps you're thinking that I forgot to mention my youngest daughter, Boni. I didn't forget; I gave up on her years ago.

P.S. Hey, Joshua: Panini is currently away at sleep-over camp and probably cheating on you, so I take back what I said before about not killing yourself.