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Those of you who read Satan’s Advice to Young Lawyers know that I owe my success as an attorney to the advice I received from Satan. You also know that he has become my mentor and close confidant. I trust him implicitly.
So, when I learned that my wife was pregnant with our first child, I naturally asked Satan if he had any parenting advice. I only expected a few anecdotes and aphorisms. Instead, he told me: “This is a very important stage of your life. I will think on this question and provide you with a response when I am able.”
As the weeks passed and my wife’s belly grew larger, I wondered if he had forgotten or had found more important things to do. I should not have worried.
About two weeks before our child was born, Satan arrived at my law office, posing as a client, which was his typical disguise. He brought with him a small manuscript bound neatly in a red clasp folder.
“Here,” he said, thrusting the folder towards me.
I reached out and took it. On the cover, written in thick black cursive, were the words: “Advice for the New Parent.”
I put the folder down on my desk. “Thank you,” I said.
He sat down in a leather chair, the cushions compressing under his weight. “When you asked me for parenting advice, I was not sure how I was going to respond. It was, believe it or not, a novel inquiry.”
“I will read it tonight.”
“Good,” he said. “Be sure to share it with your wife. Parenting is much easier when it is a team effort.”
I nodded.
“Have you thought of a name for your boy?”
I was momentarily surprised he knew it was going to be a boy, but then remembered who was sitting in the chair across from me. “No. I’d name him after you, but that might raise a few too many eyebrows.”
He laughed. “I appreciate the sentiment, Aleister, but I believe you are correct.”
“Maybe Henry or Joseph. We like traditional names.”
He interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on them. He looked sad. “I too like them best. Put Gabriel in the mix, why don’t you? I have always liked that name.”
“Of course, I will mention it to my wife tonight.”
“Good,” he said, standing up quickly. “I must go now.”
I stood too. “No time for a drink? I have some of that Scotch you like.”
“I appreciate it,” he said. “But, I fear I am called away on an urgent matter.”
“I understand. Thank you for the advice,” I said, gesturing at the folder on my desk.
He looked at me with kind eyes, a kindness I suppose few who meet him ever have the privilege of seeing. “You will be a good parent, Aleister. I do not plan on meeting your children in the afterlife.”
A chill ran down my spine. “I hope you are right.”
He smiled, opened the door and left the office.
That same evening, I read the advice. It was cogent and concise. There was no attempt at political correctness, only truth based on thousands of years of observation and practice. This was better than any of those four hundred-page baby advice tomes.
The next day, I gave it to my wife to read. I told her I found it in an antique shop. She was skeptical at first, but the certainty of the words won her over.
Our first child, Gabriel, is now two years old, and Satan’s advice has served us well. Our boy may not always act like his namesake, but we can tell he is growing to be a confident boy who we hope will be a confident man.
My wife is pregnant again with a girl, due in three months as I write this. We have not chosen a name yet, but are leaning towards Mary. In anticipation of her birth, I went through my files looking for Satan’s “Advice for the New Parent” so that I could re-read it.
It struck me that this advice should be shared with all parents. It makes the unknown road ahead much less frightening.
With Satan’s blessing, I now offer you an unabridged version of his parenting advice.
No strings attached.
Aleister Lovecraft
San Francisco, February 2015