Parental Kryptonite

I have to confess ... sometimes I get selfish. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes I don’t feel like playing that millionth game of Sorry, or play that billionth game of catch in the backyard, or make that zillionth Lego spaceship. But every single time my kids ask me to spend a little of what we parents call “quality time” with them, in the few moments of silence between their request and my response, my stupid conscience gets up, strolls diligently over to the jukebox in my head, drops in a few coins, hits a couple buttons and on comes that damn “Cats in the Cradle” song that is my absolute parental kryptonite and I am rendered powerless to do anything but acquiesce to their solicitation. That song, man. It gets me every time. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Don’t even get me started with when it comes on in real life. If I’m in mixed company I have to excuse myself in fear of breaking down into a blubbery mess by the end of it and risk being forced to turn in my “man card.” Fortunately, since it’s an old song, it doesn’t happen too often. Curse you, Harry Chapin and your cradles and cats and evil gut-wrenching parental guilt trip song!