Paul Trufant hates kids. Even hated being one, watching them run around and thinking that he, too, once had the same grass-stained, torn knees in his jeans; the mischievous grin full of gaping holes; the X-Men t-shirt…even the infamous bowl cut style every young male must endure some point in his young life. But not anymore – he fought his eighteen years in the war against society's idea of the proper "coming-of-age" for children. Tack on another six years, add a wife, four more years, subtract a little cash invested in his own company, another three years following that, then multiply that little cash by a couple hundred. If you can follow through on this equation of life, then you've reached the resulting man: middle-aged and balding, with a love for all things male – football, beer, women, to name a few. Despite decade upon decade of change, one fact remained intact: Paul Trufant hates kids.
Lucky for him his wife – a small, neat little thing who loves sorting his sock drawer, keeping leftovers in separate containers, and cleaning out her purse once a month – was never caught smiling on the idea of having children…probably because it was too messy a deal for her to handle. Or maybe it was a trip to the physician three years ago which found her sterile that had made her bitter. All in all, it made John happy. She never mentioned adopting, either.
As you may very well know now, Paul Trufant hates kids. This fact was reaffirmed after a little incident which knocked his company to the brink of disaster. But, he had to smile, even chuckle, at the very irony of it all: Shit happens. His parents split at age five and he was left with an abusive, drunken mother. Shit happens. Eight years later, the computer nerd received the beating of his life from Eric Barton and his gang of thugs. Shit happens. Three years ago, his wife was told she could never have children of her own. Shit happens. Paul's motto – blunt…and yet it said so much.
A little too much, in fact, thought the parents of McGovern Elementary School. You know, the type of school for children who get all the cookies they want before dinner? Who play with legos and those annoying dolls that wet themselves? The kids with that rare albeit odd brand of parent which does all it can in its power to avoid toy soldiers and Barbies – those manufactured corruptions that could introduce something mind-altering and harmful to these innocent, pure prodigies. Yes, the type of kids who don't know where babies really come from until they're fifteen. In all honesty, Paul felt he'd done them a favor by planting his infamous motto on the side of his septic-sewage service trucks, parading the quote around town all in good fun. But, it seems not everyone has his vulgar sense of humor. A few court dates and a couple thousand dollars later, his trucks still cruise around town, yet now they sort of trundle rather than cruise, stripped of their ingenious catch phrase – stripped of their pride. The septic trucks continue on with a feeling of emptiness, while the parents are the ones full of…well, you-know-what.
But, despite the loss of his motto for all the world to see, that doesn't change the fact that Paul Trufant hates kids. In a sense, you could say he gained from this loss a similar respect for the parents of said kids. But what could he do? As much as he felt like tearing off a head or two, maybe finishing off a few beers with the guys at work…all he could do was laugh. Because Paul knows better than anyone that shit happens.