When you give birth to a child and you hold that miraculous being in your arms for the first time, you can’t help but think what amazing things the future holds for them—joys, triumphs, jobs, relationships, everything. When I had my son, Kevin, it was my greatest ambition to see him succeed in every facet of life. But things didn’t turn out the way I planned, and to be honest, I consider it a blessing: I know that every parent wants to see their child do well, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that watching my loser son fail at everything he tries has been pretty entertaining.

As much as I love my child, he is a tremendous dipshit, and seeing how he’s managed to massively botch each and every moment of his existence has been one of the great joys of my life.

If Kevin were simply mediocre at activities like school, sports, and dating, I might be disappointed in him, but he’s such a complete and total failure that I can’t help but sit back and enjoy his constant Three Stooges-caliber disasters. I’ll never forget buying him his first bike: the way he flailed around on that thing without ever managing to get his feet on the pedals or his hands on the handlebars was more beautiful than Shakespeare to me. When I’m sitting among proud parents in the stands at state championship soccer games, watching Kevin wipe out so hard he pulls his own shorts down and scores a goal for the other team, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

I am constantly in awe of how bad my son is at literally everything a person could be bad at. I don’t need to watch fail compilations on YouTube, because I gave birth to a living fail compilation who makes me laugh with his truly mind-blowing fuckups every single day.

When you have a child, you have to readjust your priorities and expectations to fit with who they truly are. Some parents cherish the moments they spend watching new skills like chess or writing cursive finally “click” for their kids—I cherished watching my idiot son somehow spell “frambo” instead of “basketball” in his sixth grade spelling bee after asking if the definition was “a bear in a hat” and being told “no” in one of the most astounding parade of blunders I’ve ever witnessed. Yes, it would be great if my little boy were at the top of his class, but I am just happy that I got to see him show up at a middle school graduation that wasn’t even his, scream his own name into the principal’s microphone, and trip so many times walking across the stage that they had to start evacuating the auditorium.

Plenty of parents have children who attend Ivy League colleges, but I’m the only parent I know whose dunce of a boy tried to ask his longtime crush out while he was in midair during a flip off a diving board and ended up nearly drowning before an elderly woman dragged him out of the pool. Getting to witness that brought me more joy than watching my son win any scholarship or achieve any dream.

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Like any mom or dad, I have days when I worry about Kevin’s future. One time he missed his prom because he didn’t realize that the limo ride wasn’t the entire prom, or once he spent six months working on an application essay for Sea World thinking that it was a college. When I feel that way, I just remember the time he went into his first job interview and accidentally called both the interviewers “Grandpa,” and I smile. My utter moron of a son has provided me with endless entertainment and fulfillment. As his mother, I hope and pray that that little dumbass continues to fail at everything he does for as long as I live.