I'm JM Fisher, Writer & Host Of The Weekly Cynic Podcast.

I'm Currently Available For All Projects Relating To Blogging, Articles & Editing.

Advice To My Godson, The GenZ'er...


“Your entire situation is absolutely fucked up, okay? Your dad was my best friend since, I dunno, we were playing in the fucking sandbox. You’ve always known me as your Uncle. After your parents got divorced four, five years ago, shit went crazy, I know. I remember. Remember driving to Vermont with your dad to locate your Mom. And, as you know, my man, we found her. Overdosed at her boyfriend’s-slash-drug dealer’s cabin. I know, even before your mom’s death, your dad went…nutty. He wasn’t your dad. He was chasing twenty year old blondes. Buying BMW’s. Buying…sailboats. Livin’ the dream as you…fended for yourself. You’ve been unbelievable keeping yourself together by finishing high school, Uber’ing yourself off to your shitty retail job while your dad was popping champagne and taking girls to their high school proms. I know you didn’t want to stay here. I know that. Your friend’s parent’s have been ah-mazing taking care of you. Giving you a bedroom, feeding you, discipling you…But, they can’t do it anymore. I know, you think you’re mature. Got your shit together for a nineteen year old. And, believe me, to a certain extent, you do. But…your buddy’s parents are moving. They got two kids to put through college. I’m your fucking godparent. Your dad’s parents, your grand parents, are fucking impossible. You can’t live with them. They don’t even want you. Your mom’s side? Dude, they called me to ask when and where your mom’s funeral was gonna be. We have plenty of room for you here. It’s just me and my wife. We both want you here. I know you got savings. I know you got a part-time job…But, you need some stability. You need…time. Time to grieve. Look, I loved your dad. I can’t believe he’s gone. I never had any brothers and sisters. Your dad was my brother. You’re my nephew. In some ways, you’re even my kid. And if that’s the case, I’ve been just as lacking in my parental responsibilities. Neglectful. You’ve been through so much, my man. And, I’m looking at you now, here at this table and you got your shit together more than I did when I was nineteen. Which, doesn’t seem that long ago. And, that’s the thing. Before you know it, you’re gonna be twenty-five. Yeah, you’re smirking at me. But, the world is totally fucked up. And it’s not going to get better. I know, your dad was an idealist. A romantic. The World Is Fantastic! You Can Do Anything! Be Anything! Everyone Is Good! Everyone Is Honest! It’s not like that. Fuck, it never was. Here’s what I want to tell you: That’s all a lie. I don’t want you to live here because I think you need a good ass kicking, or I’m going to set you straight. But, you need to grasp how life accelerates. The world. The culture. Politics. I mean, we are twenty some years apart. I’m sure you have a Kurt Cobain t-shirt, because, that’s all my generation is known for, I guess. But, I’ve seen so much change in so little time, and you, your generation is so unprepared. Yes, everyone has bitched about the Millennials, but fuck…You guys are addicted to your phones. You seem oblivious to books. To…hell, a movie with subtitles! I mean, how hard was it to get you to sit down with me and just talk. To not have your phone in front of you. Not be bothered with countless texts and Snap Chat updates and shit. Here’s the deal, my man… you can’t just move to California and be a life guard. It’s…It’s not the 1960s. You must have been watching way too many Baywatch episodes on YouTube. Look, I know, I get it….You’re a good looking guy just like your dad, but—What? You think you can become a model? Jesus Christ, my man… Here’s the thing—I know I know. Don’t go to college. Not yet. Keep working at the sporting goods store. Keep getting your ass kicked by your boss, customers…Hey, whatever, keep picking up all those hottie lacrosse chicks. Either way, working there gives you a glimpse into humanity. How selfish. How jealous. How horrible. Even how nice we all are. But most importantly, you get to see that humans interact in the most nonpolitical way. That real life is not predicated on trending outrage. You gotta disconnect, my man. You have to. Understand that rectangle in your hand will doom you. Turn it off sometimes. Breath. Think. Let your mind wander. Because, you will get sucked into it and before you know it, you will be twenty-five. You will be regretting all those years spent tweet-protesting. Thinking you were changing the world. No, man… You can’t change the world if you don’t have a basis. Also, you need to acquire a bullshit detector…Most importantly, while you’re living here, save your money. Every. God. Damn. Penny. Yeah, okay, every once-in-a-while you can buy a pretty thing something pretty, but, to survive, especially as technology changes, automation takes hold—What? You don’t know what I’m talking about? Jesus…The days of just going off to college, getting a job and livin’ The Dream are over. Create yourself some financial stability. Set aside time to just think. Maybe get an associates degree, learn a trade, because being a lifeguard and banging rich California chicks is not going to turn out well. Believe me, their parent’s aren’t going to let their precious bloodlines become tainted with East Coast middle class DNA. Your generation has to create a game plan. Has to have blueprints so much faster than any generation. Because if you don’t, existence will be impossible. Like I said, everything is a lie. Everyone wants you to think the world is either evil or happiness. Let me tell you, it’s neither. Life, existence, America, politics, whatever…nothing is black and white. It’s all gray. The gray is where the truth lies. And let me tell you, once you see everything as gray, you will likely become an outcast. Don’t let that scare you. I see so many fucking young brats running around with purple dyed hair and tattoos thinking they are outcasts. Lord…C’mon. If you were a real outcast in this culture, you wouldn’t dye your hair or get a tattoo—”

My godson interrupts, “OK. Like can I uh have my phone back?”

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