Bobby, I know you're only 3, but you need to move out
Published: Thursday, January 14, 2010 at 6:01 a.m.
Last Modified: Wednesday, January 13, 2010 at 3:06 p.m.
Son, I want you to know that your mother and I didn’t come to this decision lightly. We put a lot of thought into this, and it’s the only thing we can come up with that makes any fiscal sense.
It’s no secret that we’ve had our share of money problems since you moved in with us. We’ve loved having you here, but I just don’t think we can support you without eating into our retirement fund.
I know you’re only 3 years old, Bobby, but I think it’s time you moved out.
Before you say anything, let me explain.
You see, Bobby, there’s this thing called a “Ponzi scheme.” A Ponzi scheme is a bogus investment plan where each investor is paid a return on his investment with either his own money or the money of subsequent investors. The Ponzi scheme works and everyone gets paid until people stop investing and everyone loses everything.
That’s right, Bobby, it’s kind of like a pyramid scheme, except it’s not based on any legal business plan, per se. Don’t worry. A lot of people confuse the two.
Well, your mother and I let Uncle Bernie have access to your college fund and — long story short
— it’s gone. It’s all gone. No, you won’t be seeing Uncle Bernie any time soon, either.
Normally, this wouldn’t be such a huge setback. You are, after all, still 15 years away from graduating high school, which is plenty of time to save up for a mid-level, in-state public university. I, however, just lost my job at the Saturn plant, and we can’t afford to put money toward both retirement and tuition while still putting food on the table.
Thank God your mother has a stable job at Halliburton or we’d really be in a pickle.
I’ve taken the liberty of packing your things for you. Technically, that Wii is mine since I paid for it with my own money, but I know how much you like it, so I put it in your Spider-Man backpack next to your Slinky.
I knew you’d bring your sister into this. Look, Bobby, Betsy was here first, so it’s only fair that we operate on a last-in-first-out system. It’s called “seniority.”
I know you didn’t ask to be born into this family, but we didn’t exactly ask for you to be born into it, either. I won’t get into the details, but let’s just say that about four years ago at a rave in Paramus, mistakes were made. To be honest, Bobby, I’m surprised you’ve made it this far with the family to begin with. You’re not exactly known for pulling your weight around here. It’s true that you amuse Nana and Pop Pop when they come over, but as far as tangible contributions go, you’re sorely lacking.
At least Betsy can take out the trash. All you do is eat and poop.
And here we go with the crying. This is another reason you’re on the outs, mister. You’re a hard man to live with. We’ve literally spent the last three years feeding, clothing and housing you and we’ve gotten nothing in return. Not even a macaroni picture frame.
I’m not going to lie to you, Bobby. Times are tough out there. Believe me, I know. There aren’t a lot of jobs available in this economy, especially for someone with your limited skill set. And don’t get me started on those child labor laws. If this were 1790, we’d both have jobs back at the factory.
The important thing to remember is that your mother and I believe in you, and we think this is the best move for you and the family right now. When you turn 7 and you’ve got a wife and a kid of your own, you’ll look back on this and laugh.
Now kiss your mother goodbye. The cab is waiting outside.
Contact John Houder at jhouder@gmail. com.
Reader comments posted to this article may be published in our print edition. All rights reserved. This copyrighted material may not be re-published without permission. Links are encouraged.
Comments are currently unavailable on this article