Where the Hell Were Your Parents? by Nathan Weathington

Author:Nathan Weathington [Weathington, Nathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781927559413
Publisher: Promontory Press
Published: 2014-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Money Shot

1985

11 years old

In my life, I have experienced six truly pure things: Brian’s rock throw, sight fishing for trout, my boys’ laugh when they realize that I am actually changing their diaper, Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea, my mom’s banana bread, and Ashley Sanders’s sick-ass egg throw of 1985. Everyone will remember where they were when they heard about 9/11 and the shuttle explosion. I can tell you not only where I was, but also what I was wearing and what flavor of gum I was chewing when the sky parted and I witnessed a miracle in 1985. (It was Hubba Bubba watermelon, if you were wondering.)

It isn’t fair to compare Ashley’s Money Shot to Brian’s rock throw at the train. Both were equally pure and beautiful, and it is my book, so I am not picking a favorite.

Brian, Ashley, and I had been invited to one of the straight kids’ birthday party; let’s call him Russell. There were around twenty kids attending. The group had heard stories about us and wanted us to spice up their party a bit. We obliged.

Today’s birthday parties are more exciting than Disney World. The last one I went to literally had Barney waddling around. How do you even go about booking that fat purple freak? What am I to do now, go out and book Santa Claus for my son’s birthday party in July? Thanks, assholes. These dipshits also gave their daughter twenty dollars for losing her first tooth, causing a trickle-down effect amongst the entire elementary school.

We rode to the party in the back of my dad’s black GMC pickup. My dad called us over to his window as we prepared to make a run on the giant bowl of Ho-Hos in the front yard.

My sons now eat food that I don’t even recognize. Quinoa? I thought that was a country in the South Pacific. What the hell are shade-grown, fair trade, free range organic eggs? Does that even come out of a chicken? Their hot dogs are actually good for them. It’s a hot dog — it’s supposed to be lips and asses; that’s the point. They eat cereal with no prizes in the box and with enough fiber to keep all of Del Boca Vista regular.

“Don’t do anything stupid please,” my dad said.

After the usual cookout and cake, the troop took off on a walk through the woods. When we came to the road, the host of the party pulled out two dozen eggs. He summoned all his courage and stated we were to egg the next car that came by. This made 17 of the kids excitedly nervous. Three were not; this was not our first rodeo.

The mob was pumped. Everyone received one egg and then we waited, and waited, and waited. The straight kids seemed very relieved by the lack of cars, whereas Brian, Ashley, and I were a bit pissed at the lack of action. Collectively we must have played a thousand games of Slaps during the intermission.

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