We were hosting friends for a backyard cookout—not to be confused with a backyard BBQ. No BBQ to be found, the menu offered up simple fair such as hamburgers and hotdogs. This was a lowbrow affair to be sure. Over several years of hosting large gatherings for college students, I’d even succumbed to offering Shasta instead of brand-named soda products. (Mmmm, kiwi strawberry.)
But on this particular day, I had no choice except to reckon with my failings as a man and a provider. (Or, you know, wrestle with my cultural and gender identities.) The confrontation and ensuing crisis actually occurred the day before the event, after the wife returned home from the obligatory grocery shopping. Being the helpful and dutiful husband I am, I immediately dropped what I was doing to help unload the groceries. (I’m sure it went something like that.)
Midway through unpacking, I found something in one of the bags that unraveled me to my core. The conversation went something like this:
“What are these.” I stand in disbelief, holding out the incriminating item.
The wife looks at me with incredulous befuddlement. After a pause, she says, “Hotdogs. You told me to get them.”
I shake my head. “These are not hotdogs. They’re weenies.” I choke on my own emotion. “They’re franks at best!”
The wife looks torn between thinking I’m drunk or joking, but I’m not wearing my joking face…and I almost never drink before 9:00pm. She says, “They’re hotdogs. They were on sale for a buck a package.”
I gawk, now flailing the package in the air. “These are sawdust and beaks, hooves and raccoon tails! Just read the package. There’s no promise of what animal you’re even eating!” I start to hyperventilate and am forced to put the package on the counter so I can lace my fingers behind my head and breathe deeply.
The wife is not amused. “You’re being ridiculous. You insist on feeding the neighborhood. I got hotdogs.”
I take a moment to internalize what I’m feeling, to process my outburst. “I’m a failure.” I point at the package of encased meat stuff and debris. I start to tremble. “I’m a bad husband and father. This confirms it.”
The wife: “What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
“If we can’t even afford to offer high-quality trash meat to our friends, what does that say about me as a provider? I’m a joke and a dreamer forcing his family to live off of basement-value weiners.”
Okay, I might have dialed up the drama a tad for quality-storytelling purposes. Still, it’s hard to overestimate the significance this episode played in my self-discovery. For whatever reason, I’ve always been fine sneaking Taco Bell twelve packs into movie theaters. I’ve got no issues with cutting my kids’ hair or cutting my own. I’ve never felt bad about buying shirts at secondhand stores. I absolutely pick up loose change on the ground when I see it, even pennies.
But not being able to afford jumbo, all beef hotdogs for my friends and family? It was too much for my pride to handle. What next? Scraping the cheese off of discarded pizza boxes? No, sir. Things had gone far enough, and things would go no further. I informed my wife that we could afford QUALITY trash meat. Nothing but the best hotdogs from then on, even if it meant me growing up and getting a “real job.”
And I’ve never had a real job since.
Oh well. It was still a significant moment.
This week only…
At the Desk This Week
More of the same. Nothing to see here. I’ve been building a website for a client. It’s fun work. I like it. But at this point, I know it’s gonna get harder and harder to pick up the story of the Green Ones where I left it off. I’m making a commitment to put in at least a few hours over the next week. I know I’ve simply gotta force my way back onto the project, or I’ll keep prioritizing short-term payment gigs. Birds in hand are nice when compared to ones in the bush, as they say. But this is about creativity and storytelling dang it! Sometimes it’s more interesting to talk about the birds in the bush! Okay, enough of my nonsensical ranting. On with the show.
If You Wish to Start Reading The Green Ones…
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
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