At Sweet 16, Pickathon Has Grown into One of the Greatest Music Festivals on the Globe
Going out with my kid in Portland is like walking into a lion’s den. 20-something hipsters who have the world figured out with their over-sized, non-prescription glasses and mismatched clothes that they think looks like they picked off of the floor of goodwill look at us with such disgust. “Ew, Look. There is a woman with a smaller, not-totally-developed-yet human… so gross… and so in my face. How dare you have children.” If I discipline my child for poor behavior in public I’m being too strict, but if I let my kid be a kid in public I’m being too lenient. Portlanders think they have every right to tell me their opinions about my parenting choices, and those opinions run the gamut. Despite your well-intentioned (or not) advice, I’m going to parent my kid the way I want to, and, believe it or not, my kid is going to turn out just fine, because, let’s be honest, the majority of people turn out just fine despite parenting short-falls. I did. You did (probably). So, after not getting enough sleep last night because my kid kept me up half it, I’m going to go out to brunch. I’m going to drink Bloody Mary’s because I deserve them. I’m going to watch my kid annoy the shit out of you for an hour while laughing to myself about your facial expressions and body language. I’m going mutter to myself, “you are fucking welcome for the free brunch, douche bag” as I walk by you to leave with the kid that annoyed you for an hour that I get to love and care for 24/7.
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