Me, Myself, and Mom: The Solo Family Man’s Guide to DIY Parenting /  CHRIS CONIDIS

​

 

In the peculiar little town of Brambleton, where the lines between eccentricity and outright oddity were comfortably blurred, lived a man who had achieved a feat no one thought possible: he had become his own family. Eugenius Fortescue was not merely a man; he was his own mother, his own father, and, on occasion, his own well-meaning but mildly irritating uncle. It was a solo family effort, and Eugenius proudly claimed it as his greatest accomplishment.

 

In that small, thoroughlybaffled town somewhere out there, resided Mr. Eugenius Fortescue, the man who, remarkably, had managed to become both his own mother and father. Eugenius—known to himself, by himself, as “Mom” and “Dad” respectively—was the ultimate family man, occupying every role in his lineage with the kind of meticulousness only possible when you have no one else to blame.

 

He spent his mornings preparing breakfast as Father, sternly reminding himself to “chew with your mouth closed” and “stop playing with your food.” Switching seamlessly, he would then scold himself as Mother, concerned he was skipping on his vegetables and eating “like he was raised in a barn.” Eugenius had perfected this routine, alternating seamlessly between critical parental monologues and self-defensive rebuttals, giving the impression of a well-rounded family meal, sans family.

 

His childhood had been simple enough, although fraught with the existential crisis of realizing that he had never actually been born. He didn’t quite remember being born because, well, he hadn’t been. Eugenius had simply always been, like a self-invented parable, or one of those vague family myths about “a relative who’s technically also a distant cousin.” As he grew older, he somehow became aware he was his own mother, yet equally perplexed at how he could also be his own father—a conundrum that took years of self-imposed parental counseling to understand, if not accept.

From a young age, Eugenius had been a self-starter. Raised by no one but himself—no parents, no grandparents, no meddling relatives—he’d therefore decided early on that he would be the family he’d never had. He’d be his own role model, his own support system, and his own disciplinarian. This, he was convinced, was the ultimate DIY project: family, made from scratch, with no guidance but his own imagination.

​

Morning Routines in the Solo Household

Each morning, Eugenius’s day began with a symphony of self-imposed roles. As “Dad,” he’d stride into the kitchen, brewing coffee so dark and bitter it practically dared him to drink it. He’d mutter about “the good old days” when coffee was brewed in percolators and scoff at the idea of cappuccinos or “those fancy lattes.”

Then “Mom” Eugenius would take over, promptly adding a splash of oat milk to the brew and fussing over his health. “You know you shouldn’t drink it black, dear,” he’d say to himself, “Remember your stomach.” He’d then toast some bread and insist on spreading avocado on it, commenting that it was full of “good fats.” This often led to an argument between Mom and Dad about the price of avocados and the state of the economy.

Once breakfast was over, Eugenius would move on to life lessons, balancing tough love with gentle guidance. As Dad, he’d give himself a pep talk, saying, “You’ve got to toughen up, Eugenius. The world won’t hold your hand.” But then Mom would jump in, softly reminding him, “It’s okay to be sensitive, dear. Sensitivity is strength.” This would go on until he finished his coffee, at which point all sides of him agreed that it was time to leave the house and face the world.

​

The Solo Family Man Takes on the Town

Brambleton was used to Eugenius’s oddities, though they had grown fond of him as a sort of town mascot. Children would giggle as they watched him at the grocery store, holding animated debates with himself over the price of pasta or whether he really needed that pint of ice cream. He’d scold himself in the canned goods aisle, saying, “No sugary snacks today!” only to whisper conspiratorially to himself, “But a little treat never hurt anyone, did it?”

​

There was a kind of charm in his daily performances; to see Eugenius switch seamlessly from Mom to Dad, from doting caretaker to pragmatic taskmaster, was like watching a one-man sitcom. Passersby marveled at his dedication to his “family,” curious if he really believed in these personas or if it was just an elaborate act. Yet, as far as anyone could tell, Eugenius was deeply committed. To him, each role was real, each perspective necessary, as though he were fulfilling a duty not to others but to some internal code of conduct.

​

Holidays, Celebrations, and Existential Crises

As the Solo Family Man, Eugenius celebrated every holiday with meticulous care, creating traditions no one else would ever know. On Mother’s Day, he’d treat himself to a box of chocolates, curling up in a soft sweater and congratulating himself for his “years of unconditional love.” On Father’s Day, he’d pull out an old razor, attempt a clean shave, and remark wistfully on how proud he was of himself for being such a strong, dependable father figure. It was, in his mind, a ritual of self-affirmation—a way to keep the family he’d invented alive and well.

Yet, as the years rolled by, there were cracks in the grand illusion. Though he’d never say it aloud, Eugenius sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a family that wasn’t conjured from his own imagination. He’d sit at his dinner table, engaging in lively conversations with himself, only to pause, spoon mid-air, feeling the quiet creep into the edges of his thoughts.

​

One late autumn evening, after a long day of lecturing himself on the importance of sensible shoes and hearty meals, Eugenius found himself sitting in silence, staring into a mirror. His eyes traced the familiar lines of his face—the crow’s feet at the corners, the slight graying at his temples. For a moment, he felt a pang of something he didn’t quite recognize. It wasn’t loneliness, exactly, nor was it sadness. It was something quieter, something that didn’t fit neatly into the roles he’d crafted.

​

He leaned in, his gaze fixed on his own reflection, and tried to summon one of his usual voices. “Mom,” he whispered, hoping for a reassuring response. But the voice didn’t come. “Dad?” he tried, but again, nothing. There was only the face in the mirror, a man he knew all too well yet, in this strange moment, hardly recognized.

​

And then, almost involuntarily, he laughed—a soft, weary chuckle that seemed to echo in the quiet room. The laughter felt unfamiliar, not tied to any particular role, not tethered to any character he’d created. It was just Eugenius, laughing at himself, at the sheer absurdity of his life’s grand experiment.

​

As he looked around his small, cozy apartment, filled with mementos and trinkets that only he understood, he felt a sudden, unspoken invitation. There was a world outside, a life beyond the roles he’d worked so hard to maintain. He didn’t have to be “Mom” or “Dad” or even “The Solo Family Man.” Maybe, he thought, for the first time, he could simply be Eugenius—a man still figuring out who that was.

​

He rose from his chair, his reflection still watching him from the mirror. He took a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and fear. It was like stepping into the unknown, but somehow, it felt right. He didn’t need the roles anymore, didn’t need the scripted conversations. He only needed himself, ready to face the world without the weight of his own invention.

​

And for once, that felt like more than enough.

​

​