My Son, The Sith Lord

It started innocently enough - with the whole family watching  the entire Star Wars movie catalogue over the weeks leading up to the release of Episode 7.

The next step? Also innocuous - my 8 year old's decision to go as Darth Vader for Halloween, using an amazing mask he got last year, which came pre-loaded with recorded James Earl Jones' quotes from the original films, all available at the touch of a button. He memorized all of them, mimicking with amazing accuracy JEJ's delivery (if not his rumbling bass).

While watching the movies with him I noticed that, whenever someone presented the protagonist with problems, his response was to suggest they should be killed. And then his cheering at said destruction.

But, I convinced myself that he was just being a normal blood-thirsty 8 year old. Still, deep down I wondered....

Watching movies or sports teams with him he always cheers for the overdog. He is all about the win, dominance and then gloating over a win. Hearing his synopsis of stories or movies they are interestingly skewed to the point of view of the dominant figure in the story - not necessarily the protagonist. It reminds me of that great scene in the movie Barcelona when one of the characters, suffering from a head injury, describes the end of The Graduate. He found Dustin Hoffman's character a whining lcreep who ruins the life of the groom, "a great guy, the make-out king of his fraternity", when Hoffman crashes the wedding and runs off with the girl. Classic.

What else? He is governed by powerful emotions, which as we know, is the path to the dark side.

His regular greeting to me is to physically attack me like Cato in the Pink Panther movies does to Inspector Clouseau. I mean, it's done in love but, still...

The clearest evidence though was when I got in his way in the hallway the other day and he declared ominously, "Don't make me destroy you."

You might think that when you realize that your son is a Sith Lord that there would be a group or something you can join, right? Maybe a seminar? At least a hotline, maybe? You'd be surprised to learn that, no, you're pretty much on your own.

I was worried for a while about how this would play out but, I've come to peace with it. I think I accepted him for who he was when he turned to me the other day and, with perfect intonation and phrasing, said, "Join me. Together you and I can rule the galaxy as father and son."

When your son says that to you, it would take a heart of stone to not be moved. I, of course, said yes.

So, your kid is a doctor? Sports star? Computer scientist? Whatever. My son is a Sith Lord and he will kick your kid's ass.

 



The Naked Truth

Conversation at dinner table tonight:

13 year old tells a story about how a kid in Grade 6 has been banned from local variety store for trying to buy a Playboy. We all start laughing, except the 8 year old demands to know what a Playboy is.



13 year old looking shifty and pink, refuses to answer. 10 year old sniggering.

My wife explains that it is a magazine full of naked women.

He doubles over laughing, "Who would want to look at a magazine like that?"

My wife, carefully not looking at me, answers, "Exactly."

I interject, "Some men are very interested in looking at naked women."

8 year old in disbelief, "That's just dumb."

I reply, "There may come a day when you become one of those men."

He looks at me. "Do you like looking at naked women?"

Beat.

"Very much."

Chorus of yucks etc.

My wife, "Daddy is a gross pig."

I defend myself, "What? I like looking at you naked."

She blushes.

My boys yell out, "Stop! Enough! Yuck!"

I ask them, "Where do you think the three of you come from?"

At that point I am physically attacked by my three sons, laughing, outraged, embarrassed.

Carry Your Own Bag

If the job of fathers with daughters is to "Keep them off the pole", in the inimitable words of Chris Rock,



then I believe it is your duty as a father with boys to get them to "Carry their own bag."

In each case, the dad's job is both a literal one and a figurative one. I read Rock's view on "keeping them off the pole" as, not only literally giving your daughter the upbringing and options so that she doesn't turn to stripping, but also greater than that - to aspire to be a person of worth and value in her own right who doesn't look on her desirability to men (or women) as a measure of self-worth.

Sure, be 'hot', pretty, desirable if you want. Fill your boots. Take pride in your appearance. Wear feminine clothing, wear make-up and perfume or don't - whatever makes you happy - but don't rely on your looks to get by. Or think that is all you are or can do. Don't seek to please people (men or women) as the cost of your own wishes, dreams and desires. Beauty is a rare commodity and, as such, it is valuable and in some peoples' cases (men and women) maybe that is their best option to make money, exert influence and gain status. That historically has been a route for more women than men but it has never been limited to them and, increasingly, men are taking that route as well.



The point stands - you are not doing your job as a father if you don't demonstrate to your daughter she is more than that how guys look at her. Things are changing for the better but it is still important to underline in a society in which kids are on social media non-stop posting selfies of themselves and subjecting themselves to the thoughtless comments by the public on their appearance.

So, to boys, and "carry their own bag". Again a literal and figurative exhortation. A big problem with raising boys is in the anti-boys atmosphere we live in. I'm irritated with the casual sexism which portrays boys as stupid, thoughtless and useless. One ad I saw in the subway portrayed a boy's brain as consisting almost entirely of thoughts of girls, food and videogames. Yes, it was an ad, Yes, it was supposed to be funny. Yes, to the casual observer that might be all that boys are concerned with. So maybe I should just relax and take a joke? OK. Flip that and think of an ad which posits teen girls are only concerned with boys, their weight and clothes. Sounds funny doesn't it? Hilarious, right, because it's so true? As my son so often says, "Wait! What?"

Another person I know (and like) with boys of her own posted on FB that her teen daughter sniffed that the claim that people can't truly multitask applies only to boys not to girls. And the Mum was proud of that claim of her daughter, saying in effect, 'That's my girl!' WTF? If your son said something like that about girls, would you react the same way?

These are just two examples of an increasingly common and unchallenged new orthodoxy i.e. men are useless. Or how about the sexist neologisms floating around, like:

"Man-flu"? Bullshit. I hear women sneering about their husbands and boyfriends being 'babies' because of their behavior when they are sick. Pardon me? They are ill. OK some guys are wimps but maybe it's as simple as they are feeling unwell and are looking for some sympathy and kindness and being looked after when they are feeling low. Nope. Guess not. So much for men sharing feelings...

"Man-splaining"? Double bullshit. Self-important gas bags propounding on stuff they may not know a lot about is not a male-only issue. Sure, I am terribly guilty of this all the time. But it doesn't have anything to do with me being a man; I just like the sound of my own voice. I hear a lot of self-important women doing the same (see man-flu above). I got a lot of unsolicited opinion from women about parenting while I was at home with my young boys - you see, their lady parts meant they knew more about raising kids. Why the need for the casual sexism? Call a loudmouth a loudmouth - leave their gender out of it.

Am I ever going to get to the carrying your own bag thing? Yes. Here we go. The biggest problem I think boys have is how they are raised. And not only because of  the increasingly negative atmosphere I describe above. You think boys are useless and thoughtless? How did they get that way? Their parents. People raise girls and boys differently. They expect girls to pitch in, help and be thoughtful. Too many people give boys a free pass based on the idea that 'boys will be boys', and let them skate on being responsible. As a consequence, many end up that way. Self-fulfilling prophesy, not biological determinism.

I was sitting in my 13 year old son's Select hockey dressing room for an early team meeting. (Yes, he finally made it, at last). And one of the big announcements was that, starting this year, all the boys would be expected to carry their own hockey bag. (!?!) My son and I looked at each other and laughed quietly.

"Guess that won't be a problem for us," he joked.

My kids carry their own hockey bags. They get dressed and undressed by themselves for hockey. I do tie the younger two's skates since they are hard to tie tightly. They are 8, 10 and 13. They have done this for years. Maybe I was projecting but I was pretty sure I saw a couple of parents and kids look upset by this declaration. I interpreted one of the parent's looks as "We'll see about that."

This required a rule? These are strong athletic 13 year old boys. I have been outraged for years watching small mothers struggling under massive hockey bags stagger in and out of arenas while their sons yell at them for money to buy slushies. But I don't feel sorry for these women because they have reaped what they have sown.



A few years ago, my middle one, who would have been about 8 at the time, and my wife were in a hockey change room which, as usual, was filled with adults dressing perfectly capable children. One boy started screaming at his mother because she had forgotten to put something in his bag. First, of all, that doesn't fly in our house, so my wife was shocked. She was also a little shocked by the woman taking it. Then, however, my son did something that made her (and later, me) very proud. He turned to the kid and said, "But it's your bag. Isn't it your responsibility?"

That rocked everyone back on their heels. But my son was genuinely confused because that is what he has been trained to believe. He not only has to carry his own bag - he needs to make sure he has everything he needs. He is learning how to be useful, use foresight and planning and take responsibility for his actions. It's not magic - it's practice.

My guys help with laundry, cooking, cleaning, shopping - because they are expected to. My wife loves going to the grocery store (a slight exaggeration) because she regularly gets envious glances and comments from other women who marvel that boys can do such things as follow a list on their own and fill a grocery cart (we give them their own cart and list - it makes it go faster). While nice, it's a little shocking how low people's opinion of boys (and probably children in general) are.

My boys are expected to talk to adults, look them in the eye, answer their questions and thank them for things they do for them. Believe me, it's not always easy, there is a lot of complaining (particularly about laundry) but it pays off. I am proud of my sons - and you should be proud of yours so give them the skills they need to become real men.

Boys need to be taught to carry their own bags (literally and figuratively ) - so they can be useful and responsible members of society and be able to put paid to those pernicious stereotypes about boys.



Using My Words



Every so often I bump into someone or have them over for dinner or we are hanging out somewhere and they will pepper their conversation with profanity. They will stop short and look like they're in trouble because they will realize one of my kids is there.

"Oops, sorry", they will say.

I tell them not to worry. My kids have heard worse - they have been in the car when I'm driving.

I don't even want to know the stuff I've said while my children are in the car. Occasionally I'll come out of some sort of fugue state and catch the last few words of what I was muttering and I am shocked and appalled at the base and ignorant invective I've been spewing but, oh, well, I'm not likely to stop now so I ignore it and turn the radio up.

I defend it by saying "Daddy is using his driving words."

In my defence, I drive in Toronto which apparently has a higher than average number of morons driving (mind you, I occasionally drive though Kitchener Waterloo and they've got to be pound for pound the worst drivers I've encountered). One of my friends, back home visiting his folks from Europe drove to meet me for lunch. He lives in one of those progressive European cities where no one needs to drive apparently. He missed the experience and wanted to get back behind the wheel so he borrowed his father's car to do so. He confessed that, within moments, he was turned into a belligerent rascist hothead.

"Sweeney, I called someone a Goddamn Chinaman. First of all, who even uses that expression anymore? And second, he wasn't even Asian. I became not only a racist but an inaccurate racist!"

He may never drive again. Driving does it to you. Even my very nice neighbour is transformed by driving. She took my kids to the movies a little while ago and they came back and entertained me with the expressions she uses as she makes her way driving through the city. "Come on, uncle, move it!" "Let's go, fatty!" etc.

That said, am I a complete hypocrite when I do not let them swear around me or in public? No. I don't think so. They need to know what is appropriate and swearing is still not socially acceptable in most situations. All bets are off though when they start driving. I'll have to bite my tongue when they start using their own driving words once they get behind the wheel. I got a small taste of it the other day, I was confronted by someone at a four way stop who apparently lapsed into a coma partway through their turn. I leaned on my horn, and waved him through impatiently.

'Come on, come on," I muttered, "if you're going to go, go!"

"Halfwit," concurred my eight year old in the back seat, not even looking up from his picture book.

Last NSI Totally TV Blog Post

 

What’s next for NSI Totally Television team Parental Advisory?

 

Teaser for Parental Advisory

Below is the teaser for my and Jaime Escallon Buraglia's proposed comedy series about a dysfunctional PTA, Parental Advisory. We've been pitching it to various broadcasters and were recently at the Banff World Media Festival promoting it.

 



Click here to see the 7 minute bravoFACT short we made: Disciplinary Measures. Please feel free to share and let people know if you like it - particularly if you know any broadcasters.

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.