I’m the type of person who dismantles and stows holiday decorations before the closing credits can roll on TBS’s sixth consecutive airing of A Christmas Story. I have nothing against festive ornamentation, I just despise clutter. However, there was one exception.
This past Christmas, I built a pre-fab cardboard village for the cats, shoveling out money for a gingerbread house, a ski chalet, a theatre, and an RV. (I write for the internet so I make that kind of money.) Seeing how much the heathens enjoyed their village, I didn’t have the heart to chunk them in the trash (the cardboard buildings, not the cats).
Now we are a little over a month after Christmas, and I am beginning to regret that decision. Foolishly blinded by my unselfishness, I failed to remember that domesticated cats are naturally disrespectful. They don’t appreciate the tens of dollars I spent on these structures that could have gone to something more useful like a few slap bracelets or a DVD rewinder. Instead of appreciating their gifts, they let them fall apart. So now, instead of a magical Christmas village, I have something akin to a sketchy area of Baltimore in my home.
The only conclusion I have come to is that I have failed as a parent. My intent was to give them everything they could want so that they could enjoy life without worrying about mortgages, loans, or taxes. But instead, it has turned them into ingrates. If I could raise them over again, I would be more careful with the unconditional and lavish gifts. I would teach them how to earn it on their own. But because I didn’t, I have to watch my home become a sketchy Baltimore.
Share if you love Jesus. Ignore if you want to have sex with your grandmother.