Once You Grow Up, Beer is Your Trophy

Once you get married, you realize things will never be like when you were a kid.  When you were a kid, and you did something well, you got a trophy.  Or a medal or a sticker or a cupcake or a pat on the back or a "nice job there, little guy."

But once you get older, if you do something really great . . . something really totally amazing . . . like remove a giant stump from your backyard or install a ceiling fan without electrocuting yourself, there will be no one there waiting to hand you a medal or a cookie when you get done.  And it's best not to look for accolades from your wife, because chances are that she does WAY more laudatory stuff than you do . . . she probably buys all the gifts for everyone on BOTH sides of the family and does the bills and keeps track of the tax information and cleans things and puts away the laundry and makes the kids lunches and participates in the PTO and does  all kinds of other stuff that you don't t even know about because she doesn’t need constant encouragement and positive reinforcement to get stuff done.  At least that's the case in my house. 

As most of us know, the only way you can reward yourself once you are an adult, your only trophy after you swat a wasp-nest out of your porch umbrella and fight five giant wasps to the death, will be to grab a beer.  This is scary because it means the busier and more productive you are-- the more trophy-worthy tasks you accomplish-- the more likely you are to become a fat alcoholic.  It's certainly a paradox, and it seems that men succumb to it more than women.  

I will illustrate this theme with a Greasetruck song, but first, here are the top ten things I did in the last three years that were deserving of some sort of recognition . . . and don't be afraid to list your unsung accomplishments in the comments.

  

1.   Fought, Defeated, and Killed the Squirrels in my Attic.
2.   Fought, Defeated, and Killed the Mice in my Shed. 
3.   Built Greasetruck Studio and surrounding Soundproof Bookshelves.
4.   Successfully Collaborated with Igor during the Production of "Dear Ozzy (Thanks for Nothing)."
5.   Did not Beat my Child when he Maliciously and Purposefully Flooded the Kitchen Ceiling.
6.   Almost Finished Infinite Jest.
7.   Uncomplainingly went to a Broadway Show
8.   Performed Admirably at Ian’s Fifth Birthday Despite Having a Massive Hangover.
9.   Took a Novocaine Shot in Roof of Mouth and Did Not Cry
10. Brought Down a Giant Precariously Hanging Tree Limb With Football Duct-Taped to a Rope.

War and Peace by Greasetruck

War and Peace
 

I finally finished War and Peace. Nobody give me no trophy.

Yes, I finally finished War and Peace, but nobody give me no trophy.

Read Gravity’s Rainbow, The Recognitions, Bleak House, Tristram Shandy,

The Origin of Species, Brothers Karamazov.  Didn’t get no trophy.  Not even a ribbon.

Caught and disposed of the mice in the shed, listened to Wagner’s

Ring Cycle-- took me three days-- didn’t even get a t-shirt.  

Or a mug or a commemorative plate.

Little kid swim around in a pool, kick a ball in a goal:

they give him a big gold trophy.  And a nice t-shirt.  

Maybe some pizza too.

I stain the deck, run a snake down the toilet, teach my kids how to ride a bike,

install a ceiling fan but . . . you guessed it . . . no trophy . . .

not even a medal or a ribbon or some kind of little prize . . .

a spider ring or a little soldier with a parachute.

I thought that there would be a whole lot more cheering for me--

call my name, lift me up, bikini girls with D-cups.

You beat Call of Duty 3 on veteran level,

you completed a Saturday New York Times crossword,

nobody give you no trophy. Not even a phone call.  Couldn’t Will Shortz give you a phone call? 

  

You survive a mudslide, a tornado, a hurricane, an oil spill, a flood.

Nobody give you no trophy.  Or even a cool hat. 

Just some misappropriated funding. 

I did not beat my children when the purposefully flooded the bathroom

with malicious intent and it came through the kitchen ceiling.

Them kids didn’t give me no trophy.  Not even a “Thank You For Not Beating Me” note.

I tell my wife I did all the dishes and put them away, and she say:

“That’s fantastic honey . . . you want a trophy?”  

Well yes I do, as a matter of fact.

Not that it’s the thing that motivates me but still, it would be a nice gesture.

Something, anyway.  You get a woman some flowers, that’s her trophy.

Hey, did you bring those beers home for me?  You did?

Why thank you!  That's just what I wanted.