Like many in this circle, I have an “interesting” relationship with my dad. There was no divorce or infidelity. It was more like living with a caged lion. Hugs and wholesome familial comfort were not a thing. Freedom was, though. “Hey, how old are you, 5?” I’m six. “Oh. Well, come play with this hacksaw while I work on my car. Mom says I have to watch you.” ::cracks beer:: ::blasts CCR::
I feel the same way. The apple does not fall far from the tree. The absurdities of social etiquette and domestic maintenance make me claw at the bars. I want to be free. I will never fold a t-shirt. I will not go to your party. Videogames are GAY. I want to ride a freight train to Bolivia and spawn my 15th bastard child before I am forced out of town. (Which is how my Grandpa ended up here. Chad great-Grandpa the Slovene was on a war-path). THE APPLE DOES NOT FALL FAR
Many kids with “interesting” family situations end up going Left. In fact, an effective tactic against internet communists is to say “I’m sorry you had a shitty dad.” 9 times out of 10 it will take the wind out of their sails. “Lol, nice try. My dad did suck though…” I went Left too, but then turned back in horror. It’s in my blood: hierarchy = good. Chaos = good. Nanny state = bad. We are in the 98th percentile for Neanderthal DNA, after all. Add in Irish and Slav and you’re gonna have some rough edges to deal with.
My dad was less domesticated than average humans. It made us tougher – ready to approach the world in ways suited to our dispositions. Boomer dads are bummed out that their kids haven’t moved out by age 30. I was ready to move out at 15. I went to college and never came back. Living on $12k/year was a small price to pay to keep two caged animals out of the same house. I look back on it fondly.
I married someone like myself, which helps to keep home-life interesting. Cultivating chaos is good for a bored zoo animal. When things get too tedious, I take 100-mile bike rides to nowhere towns. Covered in sweat, high, lost because I’m high, and asking someone at a trailer park for water. The sun is going down and it’s 30 miles to the Motel 6. Sleep on a park bench if you can’t find it.
Dads like to blame their sons for their failures. They are dumb. The kid is you and the woman you picked. That’s why they’re like that. Any disappointment you feel is self-, wife-, or life-hatred. Probably some paternal age effect too.
The kid is the product of the life you built around yourself. That’s as good as you’re gonna get, so embrace it.
But as you must know, the family unit is deteriorating.
Online, a weird social dynamic has emerged between men. Some anonymous entities feel like brothers, fathers, and sons. Your old Dad has failed to keep pace with the changing world (to the point where you can scarcely communicate a single interest). But, Anon is there. Anon is 10 years older than you. Anon has been where you are. Anon will guide you.
For those unfortunate enough to be Nurturing types, there is an unending supply of lost young men who need advice. Pass it out and feel good. Hope you aren’t fucking your younger e-brothers and sons up! In three years the platform will collapse, and you’ll forget all about each other. That’s fine.
The future of our collapsing family unit will lead to increasingly ephemeral social relationships, to the point where we become more like ants than man.
Human Ant Colony
Space communists rejoice! Family is dead! Nobody is having sex! Babies grow in vats!
That’s right: there won’t even BE dads in the far future. Who will the communists sublimate their hate upon then? Don’t worry, there won’t be much of that.
CRISPR will first be used augment the elites. Removing genetic load to create handsome little Einsteins. But at some point, you’re gonna want to do more. How about some African fast-twitch fiber, Jewish abstraction capabilities, and the face of an Scandinavian supermodel? Cat ears? You can have them all. Oh, but the kid is only going to be 20% you. Why bother to breed at this point? Someone else can do it. You’ve got UBI, VR porn, and great drugs.
In fact, you’re 10th generation CRISPR baby. You’ve been designed to function perfectly in this society. While UBI exists, your obsessive interest in physics leads to you studying relentlessly, for fun! The fact that Central GovCorp pays you to do so is just icing on the cake. An AI custom-generates unheard music in your favorite genres while you work.
A world of knowledge is at your fingertips, augmented by secretarial AI and memory-storage solutions. The cursor moves with your mind, not your hand, which is free to molest your rather impressive sexual organs to psychedlic VR porn, should the urge present itself. You could have biosex if you want, but it’s more recreational than anything. Leave it for the IQ 160s. Those stupid apes. The food is good, too.
In an ant colony, the queen breeds, and everyone else is an infertile communistic drone. That’s where we’re heading. When the next generation of CRISPR babies means another 2x increase in the S&P 500, the government (partially run by calculating AIs) will be strongly incentivized to make sure they’re born.
So the government is now the queen ant. But who will care for the larvae?
We’ll need a paternal class. Or, perhaps, everyone will be bred to protect and care for the young. To enjoy doing so. Genius toddlers wander about an astro-turfed Singaporean city. Free to knock on apartment doors for food, or shack-up at a youth education center. Free-range kids! If one takes a liking to you, let them sleep on your couch. The food is free anyways, and robots clean your apartment. It’s cute! Maybe they can join your work-team in 10 years. Good networking. The little brat’s IQ is estimated at 250, he might be a preeminent leader in the field one day.
Indeed, CRISPR can surely create humans designed to nurture and protect children. From the moment you pop out of the bag, you may be surrounded by adults (worker ants) who take great joy in teaching you. Some could be bred to produce milk and love you deeply. Walking Gaia mothers. You will remember several of them fondly! Wow.
And then there’s your 20 father-figures, who come in and out of your life to guide you. You give them hugs when you see each-other in CorpGov skyway G56 Sector K. Let’s do lunch some time.
You hate your dad. Boo, that sucks. Unfortunately, you’re a lot like him. Your dad was psychopathic bank robber? Damn. We should probably lock you up too, now that I think about it…
The apple does not fall far from the tree, for now. But in the future, the fluorescent blue apples will fall on other worlds. Increasingly better ones. Worlds of the future popping out of HDPE bags, and ready to take us to the stars.
Drop your idiotic communist revolution and get on board. We’re setting a course for Space Communism, and Space Capitalism. You just have to put the foot on the gas pedal.