It was 8:30 a.m, Sunday morning, and my son (who is 8) comes down from his room for breakfast. As I sit at my kitchen table, reading the collection of Breitbart articles I printed off the internet and combined into my own home-made magazine, my maid comes over and sets the table. She had prepared pancakes, along with home fries and bacon. However, my maid often makes mistakes, and, as per usual, she had made one that morning. She had the bacon, with no regard for a consistent level of crispiness in each strip. Some were chewy, light red strips with those bulbous areas of white, while others were incredibly crispy, small dark red and black strips, ready to fracture at any moment.
I watched my son place three pancakes on his plate, along with a collection of home fries. Then he pulled the platter of bacon over to him. I saw him eye each piece of bacon, as he pondered which one to take. I watched him with anticipation, fear, and worry, for I knew that this moment alone would reveal what kind of man he would be in the future. Just as I had begun to say something, to urge him to take the crispy, masculine bacon, he lifts up his hand and picks…
the chewy bacon.
I watched, eyes wide with horror. At this moment I knew. I knew that I had raised a whimpering pansy. You see, real men eat crispy bacon, feminine men eat chewy bacon, this is fact, this is a law of nature.
After watching this atrocity, I immediately got up to leave for my office. My son said, “You said you would stay at home this Sunday, why are you leaving?” I told him to shut it. I then left.
The second I got to my office, I immediately logged onto my Macbook, and began to do some research: What kind of man eats chewy bacon? Can therapy cure your child of pansiness? What famous people eat chewy bacon?
My searches revealed very little, until the final one. When the dreaded words popped onto my screen: “Jimmy Carter Reveals He Loves Chewy Bacon.”
My face hit the keyboard.
All the money, all the love, all the work, I put into my child, was for nothing. For you see, I would rather have no son at all, than have one similar to Jimmy Carter.
However, that evening, as I sat in my office drinking whiskey, I changed my mind. There must be other parents like me out there, I thought. If we can all work together, we must be able to make a difference. So this is my call, my plea, to you, citizens of the world.
Together, we can stand up, we can fight, we can beat the whimpiness out of our children. It will take work, but I promise we can do it.
For everyone interested in joining this cause, please use the following hashtag on social media: #notmybaconnotmychild.
Together we can make a difference.