My Arch-Nemsis Returns

1 Jun

I used to like children; I thought they were cute and sweet for most of my life.  Not anymore.  People ask me, what happened?  I can answer that: my nephews and the creation of my arch-nemisis: my nephew Luke.  


I was at my parent’s place and  my mother showed up with my two nephews: Wes (2) and, my arch-nemesis, Luke (he’s the Moriarty of my life; the Emperor to the Star War’s Rebellion; the allergies to my summers; the Fox News to Obama; the New York Times to Bush).  I refer to him as my arch-nemesis for a simple reason: he isn’t just trying to kill me, he wants to maim me first for sport.  And, I’m correctly using the word nemesis: he will achieve victory eventually and might actually be divine retribution brought on by sins of my past.


This kid has been responsible for at least two of my concussions, me tripping down stairs (how I messed up my wrist), how I last broke my nose, he  jabbed me with a golf club in the chest right below my sternum and it felt like it hit my heart (I’m not a doctor, but, two days later, I saw a doctor because I went from having dangerously low-blood pressure and no heart issues to having dangerously high blood pressure and heart issues), he stabbed my eye–the good one; it hasn’t worked well since–and, worst of all, he will cry if I don’t watch Thomas the Train with him; the same episode, over-and-over-and-over again.  Thomas the Train is so boring it constitutes emotional abuse.  And, every shrink will tell you, physical pain is nothing next to mental pain.  Plus, he hides the remote control.  He does evil shit like that.


Even my Mom thinks Luke is a handful and she has being trying to pawn off her babysitting duties on me for years.  I’m going to burn for eternity for the lies I’ve told to get out of watching this kid.  And, frankly, I’d rather go on a live mission with Seal Team Six armed with a toy gun and cardboard body armor than continue my duel with Luke.  The reason?  I think my odds of survival are better with the Seals than with Luke.  


I heard her walk into the house and the pitter-patter of little feet come around the corner was the first sign that I was in trouble.  The second sign was my Mom’s face light-up when she saw me: 


“Chris, can you watch the kids?”  


Before I could respond, she sprinted out the door, and yelled, “I have to run to the store: I’ll be back in twenty minutes!”  


Then, she was gone.  


Back in twenty minutes?  Ha!  This was coming from a women who has lied to me about Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and that God made perfect in my own way even though she’s been trying to change my personality since birth. Her twenty minutes would turn into five hours, easily.


I don’t like babysitting them because, well, they are mean to me.  They are two big meanies.  My family tries to get me to spend time with them, but after I listed what they did to me (they didn’t care) and then I told them that, if they made me babysit, I was going to get a vasectomy, they backed off.  Also, I’ve never changed a diaper in my life and I want to keep it that way.  No young children, no incontinent adults.  I think if I never have to change a diaper in my life (for myself, included), I will achieve what Charlie Sheen calls “winning.”  


I see Luke for what he really is.  So, when my Mother sprinted out of the house (she didn’t bother turning off her car, a strategy I concluded she adopted when saw my SUV at her house and knew I was there), Luke turned to me and spoke in a bone-chilling British accent.


Luke: “So, old man, we meet again.”

Me: “Yes…yes we do.”

Luke: “Do you really think you can beat me?  I’m smarter than you; I have more energy; and, you’re sick…my Uncle!  I’m only going to get stronger; you are only going to get weaker.  How can you expect to win against me?”

Me: “That all may be true, but you’re wrong.”

Luke:  “I don’t respond to reason or blackmail; I only accept bribes.  And, if you give in to my demands, like any terrorist, I will only demand more and you’ll give again because of fear!  Then, the pinnacle of my plan comes into fruition: the Blond Medusas (my sis-in-law and Mother) will be meanies to you for months and guilt you into doing what you hate most: moving furniture and being sent to pick up their shopping junk.  And, you know they are just going to keep sending you to the store, again, and again, and again: returning items they don’t need.  You are in a no-win situation, my uncle.”  


People say they love the sound of children laughing.  To me, it sounds like the laughter of a murderous dictator.  If he could reach the counters, he’d pour himself a cocktail.


Me: “No, but I have an advantage.”

Luke: “What? You have no advantage…”

Me: “Oh, yes, for you see: I make money, money I use to pay people to do things I don’t want to do.  And, right now, next door, I have a teenage girl who is a shopping junkie and thinks you are cute.  She needs shoes, her drug of choice.  And, she’s coming over right now.”

Luke: “Damn it, Old Man…I’m going to go cry until I get chocolate milk and Thomas the Train.”

Me: “This isn’t my problem…my nephew.” [Hmm, I didn’t know I could sound so sinister.]



She later told me that, if she babysits for him again, her rates will increase to the point where she can afford to have her tubes tied.  


Further Bulletins as Events Warrant




PS This is a chapter I’m working on in my book.  Sometimes it’s easier to write this stuff when you don’t have to deal with a 250 page document.    


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