Last night, I was discussing with a friend how parenting is such an expensive affair. The diapers are costly and then there are baby talcs and comfortable shoes and school and sponsored romances until the child gets a job. And who knows how that is going to turn out?
Lately, I’ve been thinking of these things every time I open an empty wallet. Damn the end of month, which for me, begins every 15th.
I was droning on about how heartbreaking it is for a parent to see the child long for something and not be able to afford it. How, with limited means, one must assuage a little heart’s desires, or defer fulfilling them in the unseen future.
My pal, with humor as wry as rye, generally regards everything I tell him as bull. He pointed out that parenting is as much about polite dismissal as it is about money. Case in point is this joke.
Letter from son to father:
Reply from father to son:
I now hunt for similar correspondence between mother and daughter.