I am standing in line at Wal-Mart. In front of me is a man wearing cowboy boots, a trucker t-shirt, and a Marine hat. He has two young girls with him; they look about 13 and 10.
The ten year old girl is bossing him around like a drill sergeant. “I want (insert toy name). You said I could have it. You said!”
Mr. Marine is telling her no, but his head is down and you can tell he won’t last long. I’m watching all this and thinking, “Where is this guy’s dick?” I’m thinking about what a great lesson this would be. This is absolutely NOT Big Dick parenting. I’m starting to think of other examples that I could put together with this one to make a post on the topic.
In the middle of my daydreaming, the girls run off to the exit doors to look at the quarter machines outside. He tells the ten year old to grab her coat from the cart. From five feet away, she completely ignores him. Even the old lady working the register is affected by this. She lets out a guffaw and shakes her head. This is a guy in serious need of some Big Dick thinking.
Then he turns to me. “You got any kids?”
I nod. “Three of them.”
He nods, “Sterilize them now. Before they breed.” He turns back to the check out lady. “I’ve got eight kids and twenty five grandkids. Those grandkids are killing me.”
The checkout lady is taken aback. “Didn’t anybody tell you what was causing that?”
He sorta smiles, “Yeah. And I guess we were pretty good at it. Every time I got shipped off to Vietnam, I’d get a call. ‘Guess what, you’re a daddy again.'”
The girls come back to the register. “Gimme four quarters.”
“I want something.”
“Get out of here.”
The girls leave and he is just about done at the register. He had written a check for $5 over and she is getting him his change. He lets out a big sigh. “Before you close that register, it looks like I need $2 in quarters.”
Carry on, Marine. Carry on.