I have changed a diaper. There are several qualifications for a successful diaper switch.
- The user of the diaper must be a child who is incapable of changing his or her own diaper. Otherwise, we're crossing into fetish territory. Not that it is a bad thing…
- The diaper must be full of waste. Bonus points for each wave of odor that hits the diaper-changer's nose.
- Let's be honest, urine-filled diapers are too easy, since most of the wetness is absorbed. If you want more than recognition, go for the second situation.
- Completing the "third" situation earns you the utmost respect, as well as a small neighborhood block party with that quiet guy from middle school as your very own DJ. Also, that bitch who didn't put the goddam charger in your hand after you asked for it will serve you drinks through a bendy straw. (Dropped it on the floor and walked away, when my hand was open. Yes sir, she did.)
- The old diaper must be disposed of properly. It should be folded in a trapezoidal manner in which no substance can leak out. The smell, as a result, will be masked.
- More bonus points if your hands and upper arms remain clean.
- If you are dealing with boys, you must be skilled in dodging streams of you-know-what. Streams of piss, if you were questioning…
- Powder. Or diaper ointment. Apply with care.
- The new diaper must be nicely fit. Not too tight, not too loose. Juuuust right.
- Smile softly while you are doing this.
- But not creepily, for the parents may ban you.
- Even if you are related.
This is rather graphic. But it is one thing I can cross off the bucket list. It is rather exciting.
In other news, I made a promise that I would never ever compare my children to someone else. Especially when the "better" person is the same damn age or younger. Do parents realize how much that hurts? Today, my dad was fan-boying over a young African-American kid. The race in this case is rather important to note, because that is why my dad was happy.
Apparently, this kid went to college at the tender age of 15. Oh yeah, my age. He then went on to Rice University. So, he's telling me this. And at this point, I am aware that he is smarter than me. I can't deny it. I'm making D's and whatever in chemistry and writing about diapers and watching Bear Grylls drink camel dung juice, and this kid is going to Motherfucking Rice University. And he's black, and my dad loves to go on about how hard it is for "us" to get ahead in life.
He then says something that made me feel unworthy of being his child.
"I'm so proud of him."
Fuck it. Fuck it all. He had never ever said something like that to either one of his daughters. Every fucking day he comes home and he groans at us to wash dishes or clothes. He threatens to cut off the internet when we don't pick up one little napkin on the floor, in the middle of my WebAssign. He blames my mother yet praises all other Asian races for being so smart. Yeah, y'know, why can't I inherit the smart Asian skills? Fuck. When I won an award for something, he smiled for a moment, said "congrats" and went on.
And he just praises a kid he has never met before in his life for being a successful black person.
I know I'm not in the top 5% of my high school. Does he not think I am trying?
He tried to soften the blow, because he knew my sister and I heard him.
"I'm proud of you, too."
We don't need the "too."
We don't need any of that.
Dad, I'm sorry I have failed you as a child. I'm sorry I can't play tennis like you want me too. I'm sorry I didn't get that St. Agnes scholarship. I'm sorry I didn't pick up that thing on the floor. I'm sorry I'm getting D's and C's on things. I'm sorry for failing you. I'm sorry I was born a girl.
But I will not apologize for wanting to live my life. Yeah, I might purposefully apply to Rice, and if by some miracle I get in, I will show the letter to him and tear it.
But that would ruin my life, right? And he should not have that impact on me. That's my own father.
"I'm so proud of him."