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.

Sweeneyburger

My kids don't come home for lunch. This is despite them, for much of their school careers, attending a school 3 blocks away and with me home. When asked by them why they can't come home when many of their friends do, I have a simple answer: "I don't want you here."

Harsh perhaps but I have no worries about scarring their egos. For one thing, have you ever talked to a boy between the ages of 3 and 13 - in their humble opinion, they are AWESOME! At EVERYTHING! Their egos are untouched by reality. I think actually some of these punks could do with a little regular ego puncturing. But that's just me being mean, or truthful... or both.

I explain to my boys that I have sacrificed a lot by being home and putting myself at their general disposal and being available to go to appointments, to be home for sick and PA days and to take them to various activities and that, if they were to come home regularly, I would get even less done than I normally do. They look at me blankly and say, "Huh?" or something along those lines - they have clearly long ago moved on.

I also wonder, why would they want to come home anyway? It's boring here. At school during lunch hour they can run around and yell and play games and, from what I can tell, are often pretty much unsupervised - except for one teacher on yard duty who is on serious zombifying medication wishing she had made different life choices. I don't get it - lunch hour was the best part of the day in grade school for me - almost al of my memories of that period of my life come from recess. That's where you really learn stuff about the world.

However, to show I do care about them, I instituted a policy that I take each out individually once a semester to a local restaurant of their choice. This is a treat for all of us - I get out of the house and eat junk food and joke around with my boys one on one for an hour and they get the same benefit - when you're one of three kids you get lumped in with the group and don't get much personal time. This has been a very popular lunch program.

Today I took out my middle son for our term lunch date. He's new to the school this year but his older brother has been there for a few years. He was quite excited to try out Hero Burger and its bottomless soda fountain. I will try to remember the last Friday of the month is the worst day to go to this restaurant - it's the only hamburger joint in walking distance of the rather massive grade school and, by the time we walked there, we were number 70 in line.

I had my son stake out a table and I eventually placed our order, while witnessing hosts of tweens begging each other to lend them money to buy fries. Having the older boy at the school for the last few years means I have got to know a number of these kids from field trips, classroom visits and school teams. A number of boys came up to our table to say, "Hi, Sweeney's Dad. Where's Sweeney?"

I had to laugh. Growing up with a common first name and surname that already seemed a nickname, I was known as Sweeney from Grade One onwards. It always tried my mother's patience when kids would call our house (On a land line! I know, old school, right?) and ask for "Sweeney".

"Which one?" she would sigh, "There are 6 of us."

I think it's possible many people didn't even know my first name. I did actually have a guy come up to me in high school one time and ask why people called me Sweeney. I explained that it was my name. He looked disbelieving. (Yes, I'm talking about you, Arash - someone I would have thought would be more sensitive about names, frankly) I also still regularly have people who believe my name is 'Mike'. Not sure where that came from.

My surname has been morphed into many forms over the years as well: Sween, MacSween, Sweenster, Sweendawg and, perhaps the weirdest, Sweeneyburger.

On that note, at Hero Burger, in answer to the question, "Where's Sweeney?" I gestured to my second son, and said, "Right here. He's in Grade Four."

"Oh right, this is Middle Sweeney. I heard he was here now."

I think my son and I both got a kick out of it. He likes knowing he's part of something and that bigger kids know who he is because he has an older, popular brother at the school. It certainly helped him feel more comfortable with the transition. And I just like that he is known as a Sweeney. Even though I growled to him after the kids left, "Sweeney's Dad? Mr. Sweeney would have been just fine," I didn't really care. We both enjoyed that kids knew who I was and felt comfortable coming up and talking to me - like I was some kind of local celebrity. But not so friendly they asked for money to buy fries, thank god.

Something about that exchange made me feel good, like that, even though I don't have my kids coming home for lunch everyday, I'm doing something right as a dad.

Or, then again, it could have been the fries with gravy that made me feel so happy.