Yeah, so, before The Sonia Show became “The Sonia Show,” I wrote a weekly column for the Chico State newspaper. The column was called “Barely Legal,” the name of a dirty magazine they sold at the convenience store behind my apartment.
I wrote every week about things that we’re really important to me: roommates, being poor, minimum jobs, boys and whatever was on MTV.
For some reason, I have decided it would be fun to revisit some of my old musings and share them here for public mocking. I am transcribing these from the original newspaper clippings. I won’t cut out any of the “jokes,” and I will do my best not to clean up any grammatical errors.
So, my tens of readers, I present you the first in a series I’m calling “Sonia Show Classics.” Today, “Parenthood is a piece of cake: I’ve got a cat,” published in 1995. You’ll see in this piece that not much has changed for me, writing wise. I was writing about being a crappy mom and making nerdy “Star Wars” jokes even back then.
It’s not that hard to be a parent.
Well, actually, I don’t have any kids, but if I did I bet it wouldn’t be that difficult.
I see all these parents on daytime talk shows bitching about how hard it is to raise a child in this day and age. So what if your kid is a psychic cross-dresser who is in love with the family dog? Deep down, all kids are the same.
Like I said, I don’t have any kids, but I do have a cat. How different could it be?
When your child makes too much noise, just put him outside. I found this to be particularly effective the first couple of months. Sure, he might scratch at the door, but don’t cave in. You have to show him who’s boss.
And when it comes to feeding time, just put some food in the bowl. If he doesn’t like it, don’t worry, eventually he will get hungry and eat it. He won’t starve himself to death. If he does, then he lacked survival instincts and wouldn’t have survived in the real world anyway.
If he stays out all night, don’t punish him when he gets home; just be thankful he’s back and he didn’t get run over by a car.
When he poops on the floor, you need to rub his nose in it and then show him his litter box. Don’t just let him crap all over the place and get away with it. You have to train him while he is young or he’ll just keeping crapping all over the place for the rest of his life.
Now, my mom and dad had parenting down.
They had an act. They played good cop/bad cop. For example, when I was in the fourth grade I got a C in reading and writing (hard to believe, huh?). My mother, the good cop, confronted me about it. I responded in my usual fashion.
“Why do peoples have to take reading anyway? I doesn’t need it.” Then I told her to screw off and to stop poking her nose into my private life, or I’d have my boys down at the docks rough her up.
Well, that’s when the act would begin. “I’m not mad at you, Sony Baloney. But your father is going to kick your punk ass when get gets home. I’ll do my best to protect you, but it’s not like you’re his favorite child anymore; not since your sister was born.”
I would be quaking in my bright blue and orange Adidas, waiting for bad cop to get home.
I don’t want to tell you where he worked, but he was always mumbling about how the construction of the Death Star had fallen way behind schedule and he had to find new ways to motivate his workers.
That’s right, he worked for George Lucas, building the sets for “Star Wars.”
I know what you were thinking. Like my dad could really be Darth Vader.
Grow up, nerds.
Yeah, so, by the time he got home, I had worked myself into such a frenzy that when he walked through the door I’d grab onto his black-booted leg and beg for forgiveness, wiping my nose on his flowing black cape.
The good cop/bad cop always worked on me. It still does, but now it sounds more like this: “Mom, can I borrow some money for groceries?”
“Oh, I would help you, Sonia, but your father won’t allow it.”
I swear, right before she hangs up the phone, I hear her say, “Stupid ass kid. We shouldn’t have left her outside so much when she was a baby. Oh well. That’s what she gets for making all that damn noise.”