If my goal was to sell magazines, I suppose I’d clutter the cover with inspiring crap such as “10 Signs Your Child is Gifted” or “Indigo Children and the Perfect Parents who Love Them” or “The Challenges of Raising the Next Supreme Genius of Everything.” But they don’t stock this blog on the grocery store racks. So here is something you’ll really love: Three Signs Your Precious Snowflake is DOOMED.
- Poorly Thought-Out Career Goals. When I was a boy, I dreamed of growing up to become many things: an astronaut, a scientist, a fireman, a police officer, a professional baseball player, the president of the united states, a real-life Rambo, or ideally all of these things at once (also known as Batman). In other words, I aimed high.Then there is my son. At the age of 6, he has decided his life’s ambition is to make videos of himself playing Minecraft and post them on YouTube. He got this idea after wasting hours watching some equally ambitious fellow on YouTube narrate videos of himself playing — you guess it — Minecraft. My guess is that when he graduates from high school, the increasingly expensive institutes of higher learning will be offering “Minecraft videoing” as a fresh alternative to other useless degrees such as women’s studies and underwater basket weaving. However, I will give the boy this: when pressed for details on how he will make money, he immediately replied that he will sell Minecraft merchandise. Pure genius. On the downside, there are copyright issues that may prevent him from turning this hobby into a lucrative enterprise.
- A Penchant for Head Injuries. Once upon a time, the Juggernaut was a toddler. That toddler is my 2-year-old. Unfortunately for me, his titanium skull is at exactly the same level as… well, you get the picture. This child has taken the art of the head-butt to levels unfathomed since the height of the 1980s action movie genre. He also has a habit of falling backward, rolling off furniture, getting hurt on the trampoline, and bleeding from his face. His FACE! The thick scar on his nose where he cracked it open on the sidewalk is worse than any scar I’ve ever gotten in my entire life. I keep warning him to be careful because his brain can only sustain so much damage, but to no avail. It seems he may already be too far gone. Now there’s nothing left to do but stock up on long-sleeve shirts and pants so the neighbors won’t see the self-inflicted bruises and call social services.
- Bad at Math. Actually, we haven’t had this problem yet. Take that, society!
- I can’t think of a third thing.