As a parent, we're always looking for ways to impart wisdom on our children, and as our parents did before us, we tend to use examples from our childhood. That being said, whatever happened to the good old days of having to work for something? You would work hard, reap the rewards, and appreciate that you'd accomplished something. It's a difficult value to instill in kids these days, because access to everything is literally at their fingertips. I recently expressed my concern to my friend Tony from Queens, who uses words like “gabagool,” and he said, “I'll tell you what happened…Google happened. When I was a kid, if you had told me to “Google” someone, I would've been like, no freakin' way, I don't roll like that.”

A perfect example of this took place a little while back as I was attempting to help my son with a report for middle school. I told him how when I had reports to do, my mother used to take me to the library and I'd be there for hours using things like encyclopedias, the Dewey Decimal System, and microfiche to do all of the research. He looked at me almost the same way people did that time I was spotted at a Barry Manilow concert in Vegas. His response was simple: “Why didn't you just Google it, Dad?” There it was, the separation of generations. Badda-bing-badda-boom, Tony from Queens was right.

A few weeks later, I was at a Halloween party discussing the same dilemma with a rather heavyset guy dressed as a pregnant nun who insisted on being called “Sister Richard.” He looked as if Dee Snyder from Twisted Sister and 80s Roseanne Barr spawned a drunk manchild. If nothing else, I respected his commitment to his costume and his tequila.

With bean dip remains in his teeth, Sister Richard slurred out his thoughts as eloquently as a grown drunk man dressed as a pregnant nun with bean dip in his teeth possibly could. “When you were a young boy and you wanted to see a naked girl, what did you have to do?” I immediately started scanning the room for someone else to have a conversation with. “You'd have to make a conscious decision that this was your main objective for the day. Then you'd get on your stolen Schwinn, ride across town to your single uncle's apartment, hide your bike in the bushes right next to his old rusted-out van, and peer through the kitchen window to see if he was home. Once you realized the coast was clear, you'd jimmy the window open, climb in, and hit the floor like a Navy Seal ready to make Bin Laden squeal.” I have to admit, at this point, I was hooked and had to hear him out.

“Like the wind, you would stealthily make your way to his bathroom, taking care not to knock over his Old Spice teetering on the sink. Then just behind the weathered-looking toilet bowl you spot his magazine rack. Your fingers rifled through all his Sports Illustrated's so quickly that they would have made Liberace pop a rhinestone on his pants.”

“And then, you hit the jackpot. Quickly you give one last glance over your shoulder to assure your safety, before you pull out…a Playboy. But not just “a” Playboy. “The” Playboy. She's tattered and torn, but like a fine wine, somehow seems better with age. You open it, and like Casanova on a Courtesan, have a little private time with Stacks, from BJ and the Bear.”

“Suddenly you hear the key in the front door and you become a ninja. You dust for prints, snag a quick hit off the Old Spice, and with a knowing smile on your face, the carefully planned steps you took to start the mission play out in rapid reverse. Then, almost as if it were a dream, you find yourself back in the comfort of your own bed, knowing that today you worked hard, reaped the rewards, and accomplished what you set out to do.”

I thought about it for a second, first wondering, “How is this guy not in prison?” My next thought was, “I need a new circle of friends.” But then I realized, in some perversely odd fashion, his story made quite a bit of sense. I said, “You know, you're right, that's how it should be. We need to instill that work ethic in our kids. Not that particular type of work, but the ethic of work itself.” Sister Richard downed the rest of the tequila, smiled as he leaned in close to me, and said in a hushed tone, “Bullshit. Why work for it when you don't have to? It's the American way.” I guess that generational separation isn't as wide as I thought.