Just Don't Embarrass Me, Dad

"Just don't embarrass me, Dad"

The title of this post comes from a line I uttered in all sincerity to my own father when I was 12 and we were all heading into the town near our cottage, Grand Bend, for a trip to Kiddy City, a small  amusement park, and to stroll the strip for ice cream and maybe play Galaga in the arcade. It must have been a Thursday night as that was half-price night.

Grand Bend Ontario, if you have never been, is a resort town which, in the summer months, quadruples its population and its average age plummets to roughly 23. Back in the day it was a rocking place with people strutting and sashaying along the sidewalks in bathing suits or driving the strip in open windowed cars to check out 'the talent' (as my dad used to describe it). Bars belting out rocking tunes as inside sunburned and very drunk people tried to make meaningful human connections (or something like that.) It's like a mini-Spring Break. Every weekend. One of my favourite moments was seeing an OPP cruiser driving down the street and the cop in the passenger side reaching out to knock the beer can out of the hand of some guy in cut-offs and a lot of woven bracelets who was standing on the sidewalk. Yeah, that was a good one.

Eventually I left Kiddy City behind as I grew older and got a summer job and cruised the strip no longer looking for ice cream or the high score in Galaga. In many ways The Bend hasn't changed all that much, although instead of selling hacky sacs and sex wax it caters more to tattoos and piercings. Ick. Now, I'm sure it still rocks on summer nights but since Kiddy City has closed down I have had no reason to go into town with my own kids on summer nights.

Knowing what I know now I would have realized that telling my dad not to embarrass me was: 1) futile, as my parents' sheer existence at that stage embarrassed me; and 2) like waving a flag in the face of a bull. I know this because this is the stage I'm at now with my kids - show me the slightest hint you are embarrassed by me and I will RAMP IT UP. Yes. It's one of my few pleasures. When my kids were younger and would throw a fit in the middle of a department store or went boneless in the street screaming and yelling, I would lean in and tell them, "Just so you know, this is really embarrassing for me. Enjoy it. Because when you are a teenager, I will get my own back and humiliate you in public mercilessly through my antics." And I keep my promises.

Back to the past. We were walking down the Grand Bend strip and I was ahead of my Dad who had my brother on his shoulders and my sister by the hand. As I walked past a booth where for a dollar you could request a record to be played as a rotating red police light would flash (I think it might have been called The Soul Shack), I heard the young Black woman behind the counter shout out, "Groove, Daddy, Groove." I turned and, to my horror, saw my father just totally get down in the middle of the street with my brother still on his shoulders and my sister dancing around his feet. I melted into a sticky puddle of humiliation and joined discarded ice cream cones in running down to the gutter.

And of course I have become completely the same. As I dance around in the kitchen to some choice track my kids will shriek in fear and loathing as they try to pluck their eyes from their heads shouting, "Out, vile jelly." Oh, yeah, the Oedipal/Shakespeare mash-up reference there isn't accidental.

However, it all came nicely full circle this last week. My youngest sister got married and my dad and she took the floor for the compulsory father daughter dance and, frankly, he rocked it. Soon we all were on the dance floor and for once my kids seemed to really enjoy dancing with me (and my wife) and we had a ball - none of caring how we looked and consequently all looking really happy.

* As a nice Coda, my oldest (12 years old) went to a bar mitzvah the following weekend and came back with a Montreal Canadiens' (Subban) jersey which he won - by dancing for duration of the party. I feel very proud - and sorry for my grandkids - he's really going to embarrass them some day.

Book Banning

In our family we love reading. We read everything and anything - books, newspapers, magazines, cereal boxes and even, when we forget to bring something into the bathroom with us, shampoo bottles. By the way, I am amazed that these actually provide instructions. Seriously? If you are capable of reading the instructions on a shampoo bottle then, chances are, you already know how the whole thing works. But I really enjoy the back of the Old Spice shampoos and body washes - they are weird and entertaining.

Our guys are all big readers and nothing does my heart prouder than seeing them all sprawled around the living room reading books. We have always read to our kids and we still do - even though they can and do read a lot on their own. It apparently is important to read to your kids even after they can read to encourage them (even  tweens and teens)  to continue with reading through life.  That could be total anxious parent crap and not even true but, more importantly, it's fun. It's a great way to bond, share experiences  and for me to reread books I loved as a kid.

I often pick books I can't convince them to try on their own. And the books I insist on reading are not necessarily "appropriate"  for their age or this time - which is what makes reading so fun. The stuff in these books is almost lost information in one way or another. And some of it is terribly politically incorrect. Currently I am reading:

Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson to the 7 year old.

"This is the one about getting drunk on rum and killing people with swords, right?"

"Yup"

"Cool."

 

Lost in the Barrens - Farley Mowat  to the 9 year old. Two 14 year olds left on their own mess up and have to survive in the high north with only a rifle and an axe. Killing stuff, raiding Viking graves, doing stupid things with serious consequences. Super fun.

 



 

 

Watership Down - Richard Adams to the 12 year old. It's about talking bunnies, who fight and swear and kill. He loves it. Shh, don't tell anyone.

 



Another bunch of books from my youth I have introduced my kids to are the Tintin comic books. Harmless fun, right? Well... they were written by a Belgian guy in the '40s - let's just say he wasn't enlightened about other races and people. But apparently you can't get some of them out of the library because of this backward thinking. I think that's bullshit. Kids need to be able to handle this stuff and can, if given the right guidance by their parent - another reason for me to read these books to them and moderate the discussion afterwards.

Oho, you may say - easy for you Mr. White Middle Class guy - your people/race/gender are not being unfairly represented.

Oh no?

A passage I recently read in Watership Down went something along the lines of "A rabbit can no more resist lettuce than an Irishman can resist an invitation to fight." Racist bastard. I really wanted to punch the guy in the head. You know, if he hadn't been dead for 20 years or so. And because people of Irish decent don't have bad tempers. Ahem.*

But it wasn't going to ruin an otherwise great book for me and my son. I laughed and commented to the effect that it was racist garbage and we moved on. You can't protect your kids from this stuff by not dealing with it. You have to give them the tools to handle it when they encounter it.

[*Interesting - I figured WD was written in the 40s and the anti-Irish nonsense was a product of the typical English racism of the time and could be excused that way but hold on - it was written in 1972 and the bastard is still alive (94). I just might have to look him up next time I get to the UK and test his theory. My point still stands - it was from a different time and POV and I can challenge that comment but still enjoy the book and think it worthwhile. This enforced cultural amnesia/ willful blindness helps no one. Our kids need to know how people of different times and places thought (and sadly even still think) about things so they are forearmed.]

Given the stuff they are exposed to on social media, in video games and online (no matter what you do), it makes me laugh that they are pulling Tintin books from the library. Yeah, a comic book written in the 40s is the biggest concern we should have. And a library is supposed to be where all information is kept no matter how obnoxious. The bigger issue to me is most kids don't even read at all and so cannot exercise their minds with dealing with information not pre-digested and approved by the gate-keepers. Maybe this idea that books have to be good for you and have had all bad stuff removed from them is why they seem to terribly lame and uninteresting to many boys.

That said, you don't have to agree with me - you wanna fight about it?

I've been busy... PARENTAL ADVISORY, NSI TOTALLY TV, Phase II

For those of you who actually read this voluntarily I apologize for my prolonged absence - but I've been busy with this thing below. And just finished March Break which, as usual, involved the de riguer trip to the hospital. So read on and I'll post something new soon...

NSI TOTALLY TV, Phase II - Parental Advisory

Jaime Escallon-Buraglia (producer) and Christopher Stewart Sweeney (writer), Toronto, ON

After three intense days, our heads feel like over-packed suitcases that people are sitting on and trying to close so all the contents don’t go spilling out before we make it onto the plane to the Banff Media Festival. Let’s call those people Sam Linton [program advisor] and Shelly Tyler [program manager]. They have become our guides, our confidantes and our biggest supporters.[MORE]

http://www.nsi-canada.ca/2015/03/nsi-totally-television-phase-two-teams-on-their-second-bootcamp/

Lent



I explained to my post-Christian pagan sons what Lent was - giving up those things that you really liked in an effort to approximate the sacrifice and fasting of Christ in the wilderness.

My 9 year old's reaction?

"Sounds stupid."

What My Kids Learned in School Today

I got a real kick out of dinner the other night. Tuesday has become de facto guys' night dinner since my lovely and bright wife is completing her Masters in Law (which she started just before becoming pregnant with our oldest. He just turned 12.And then we had two more. Hat's off to her sticking with it. We're BUSY around here.) Her classes are Tuesday nights.

The conversation went something like this:

OLDEST shaking his head in disbelief: Dad, you won't believe what I learned in school today.

ME: Oh? What?

Me trying not to display too much excitement he is actually VOLUNTEERING information about what goes on in school and his life generally. The last few months he has been engaging in a vigorous campaign to stop all information leaks to us about his doings.

OLDEST: We're talking about drug abuse in health and the teacher mentioned Jimi Hendrix doing so many drugs he choked on his own vomit?

Again, clearly a guys' night dinner discussion - drug abuse and vomit.

ME: Uh huh?

OLDEST: And then a few minutes later one of the other kids raises his hand and asks, 'Who is Jimi Hendrix?' I can't believe it. And then, it turns out only three kids in my whole class had even heard of him. Crazy!

MIDDLEST boy (Age 9): What? Jimi Hendrix is only like one of the world's greatest guitarists ever.

OLDEST: I know. Right?

Pause as I wipe away a tear of pride - boys know their classic rock.

This pride is only topped later when my middlest asks me to play The Homecoming Song by Dollar Brand (AKA Abdullah Ibrahim) a classic jazz track.

MIDDLEST: It's got a great beat.

They then start debating which Herbie Hancock instrumental track they prefer off his Head Hunters album, Chameleon or Watermelon Man.

I gotta be doing something right. Right?

Parental Advisory Moves On To Phase II NSI Totally TV

 

Parental Advisory moves onto Phase Two of National Screen Institute - Totally Television

 

 

Jaime Escallon Buraglia (Producer) and Christopher Sweeney (Writer) of Parental Advisory
 

Very happy to move onto the next exciting phase of this well-regarded television development program. A workshop in March, followed by the Banff Television Festival and pitching Network executives. The grant will also help us develop the project and perhaps take a trip to L.A. to court backers.

This is a further development of our comedy series which began with our bravoFACT short Parental Advisory: Disciplinary Measures.

May The Road Rise To Meet You

It's finally happened, what I've been waiting for - the consistent ability to stay in my pyjamas on a school day. OK perhaps not the greatest aspiration. But - after years of trying to get all three boys out the door to school on time, making sure they were fed, watered, dressed ("It is below zero out - no, you cannot wear shorts to school!"), with permission forms signed and with lunches made - the luxury of not having to fit in my own getting dressed to walk them to school is a blessing. It gives me valuable time to do something like eat my own breakfast. What has changed? My 7 year old son is now walking to school on his own.

To be accurate (though accuracy is not a quality particularly prized here at Pop Culture, we value shock, humour and good storytelling more) this is a return to form. In past years, the youngest has been walked to school by one of his older brothers. This year, with both of them attending other schools and leaving at different times, I was back in the position of walking him to school. It does have its benefits - holding his hand crossing the street, seeing who his friends are and interacting with them - so, when he asked me a few weeks ago when he would be able to walk to school on his own, a part of me was hurt that he didn't want me there. A larger part of me was happy though - ah, freedom.

Some might be shocked I'd let my son walk to school on his own - to them I say, pbbbt. Cue sound of grandpa talking about the old days, "When I was a boy I would walk 20 miles to school... uphill both ways... through snow in bare feet... fighting wolves... with an old potato..." But I did walk to school as a boy from a young age and for a good distance - and I loved it. It was one of the memorable and important parts of the day. It started out by accident on my 6th birthday in Grade One in mid September. My mum didn't show up to pick me up and I assumed that since I was now six I was expected to walk home - a good half hour walk through downtown Toronto crossing major streets like Eglinton and Yonge. And so I set off. My mum arrived shortly afterwards, hauling my younger brother and sister - road construction had prevented her from getting there on time. Panic ensued as no one knew where I was.

I was eventually brought home by a police officer to greet my distraught mother and all my birthday party guests. After that I KNEW I could walk home - I had made it almost the whole way without incident - it was simply that last turn off I had missed. Now I wouldn't make that mistake again. Given my stubborn vehemence my parents arranged for an older neighbour girl to walk me to school and back. I responded by running away from her. I know, what a jerk. But I was incensed that I wasn't being given my due. Eventually my parents accepted it and I walked to and from school from then on, eventually walking my younger sister and brother as well.

It wasn't without incident - I remember a mean dog, getting in a fight with a bigger guy who didn't like me walking by his house for some reason, being stuck in a huge mud pit since my rubber boots couldn't escape the suction, to name a few - but that's what made it so great. How could I tell my son I didn't think he could handle a 3 block walk to school when I had that experience myself.

We started slow (as I did with my older boys). Walking with him shorter and shorter distances, watching to make sure he looked when he crossed the street etc. I would watch until he disappeared from sight, waving at him comically whenever he looked back to see if I was still there. It gave me a pang in my heart when he stopped looking back but it was overridden by my pride at how big and independent he was getting.

So this Monday was the moment when I would watch him from the front porch. I asked him if he was ready for me to let him go the whole way himself. He smiled and nodded happily and then moved in to give me a big hug and mumbled into my stomach. I couldn't hear what he said so I crouched down and asked him to say again.

"Except on snowy days," he said.

"Snowy days? Why, you worried the cars won't see you?" (Projecting - I was worried about this).

"No. So we can have snow fights."

They say down in Who-ville that the Grinch's heart grew 2 sizes that day.

I smiled. I knew that it wasn't that he didn't want me there - he just wanted to be able to prove to me he could do this on his own.

The first few days went really well - he only looked back once on the first day and then not again after that. He started out walking, but by the time he crossed the first street, he was running - so excited to be on his own. Then yesterday it snowed here. A lot.

We looked at each other with knowing smiles. It was a pleasure to get dressed and when I came downstairs he was already outside with a clump of snow as big as his head in his arms. We've had some good snowball fights both yesterday and today - both of us starting the day off right. With a fun adventure.