DadCentric

...And the Cradle Will Rock

Ok - I've culled our archives and haven't come across anything about what I'm going to post - whew.  Didn't want it to appear that we've run out of things to write about, comment on or post our snarky opinions in reference to.

I stumbled across this post last week over at Stereogum and of course, click the corresponding link.  At first blush, I just kind of looked at the site, somewhat puzzled, somewhat intrigued.  Ok, mostly intrigued.  I'd like to say that what these guys have done is taken some great bands, taken some of their more popular (read: better) tunes and muzaked them out a bit.  Ok, more than a bit.  But, I think that discounts it a little.  They've actually used some very mellow instruments - vibraphone, mellotron, glockenspiel, harp - to create some very soothing lullabies.  Some of you might be shaking your heads, muttering something about blasphemy or "how dare they?"  C'mon - wouldn't you like to have lullaby renditions of Tool, Led Zeppelin, The Cure, Coldplay, Radiohead or Metallica among others, on the shelf next to The Wiggles or, heaven forbid, Barney?  At least you can try and maintain those last vestiges of coolness.  No one ever has to know the truth - you can tell your friends, "Dude, my daughter digs Tool.  Falls asleep to Sober every night."  Though I'm not sure how that sentence would sound if you said Prison Sex.

And, you have to admit, the album covers are pretty cool, too.

When Family is Involved, Suicide is Never the Solution

This story had me torn when I first read it. Do I expend all my anger on the dead father? Or do I torch a copy of Das Kapital and burn down the world's banking institutions with it? Unfortunately, the more I think about it, the more I consider the dad a real selfish prick.

It's not an unusual story, sadly. Robert McKinnie of the Isle of Wight was a hard-working family man and electrician with his own business. A failing business. Creditors were reportedly hounding the man day and night, demanding their pounds of flesh off of his bare skeleton. Unable to bear the stress any longer, McKinnie killed himself.

I'm sorry, but I want to resurrect this bastard from the dead, shake him by his chest hair, and demand, "What's the matter with you?!" Okay, things are hard. Life sucks. But your Final Exit has left your family to deal with a mess that, in some part, you helped create. You may be "at peace", dude, but your wife and kids are the ones left behind to figure out how to pay for your funeral costs with a mountain of debt and no insurance benefit. The only way your last act of life could have been more reprehensible would be if you had taken them with you.

I know what it's like to be on the debtor end of credit collections. I can only imagine that pressure  multiplies a hundred-fold when you're talking debts to suppliers and small-business bank loans. It must have been a cruel daily torture. But are you telling me that there were zero options short of suicide? Sorry, I don't buy it. There's always a way forward, even if it's not the path you'd prefer to travel.

It's times like these that you ought to cleave most closely to your family, and seek professional help if you find yourself entertaining the notion that you'd be better off dead. This dad failed to do that. And now, his family has to bear his burden.

(And just so you don't think I'm leaving capitalism off the hook entirely, boo to those creditors who are still harassing his wife. Jesus, guys, the poor woman has the world on her shoulders, and you're still piling on the crosses. Could she at least put her husband in the ground before you start pressing her for cash again?)

The Zoso Zone

My daughter received a Barbie CD player (shut up) for her birthday.  It is pink and dainty and also has an AM/FM radio.  The majority of the time, the radio is on, tuned to our local classic rock station.  See, Mia’s just a classic rock kinda girl.

This past weekend the radio was on almost constantly.  No less than six times did I walk into her room on Saturday to hear a Led Zeppelin song.  Now, I’m a big Zeppelin fan.  I own the posters.  I've read Hammer Of The Gods.  I know what those brilliant but sick bastards did with sharks.  They were one of my first musical loves.  But, uh, guys…six Zeppelin songs in the space of 8 or 10 hours?  For the record, the selections were Over The Hills And Far Away, Good Times Bad Times, Stairway To Heaven, Hey Hey What Can I Do, Kashmir,and Black Dog.

[Oddly enough, I walked in to Boston tunes on at least three occasions.  Boston who has made a mere three classic rock-worthy albums.  Admittedly I’m not counting the latest of the band’s efforts which merely sounded like pale imitations of the original band.  Those wouldn’t turn up on even the worst classic rock station.]

After my run-ins with Zeppelin and Boston, I started paying attention to the programming.  I was amazed by what I discovered.  Not only are they playing Zeppelin something like 84 times a day, they're not digging deep into the catalog at all.  Worse was the prevalence of ok but largely inconsequential bands like Boston, Foreigner and Styx.  Worse than that?  Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes, U2's One and Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive!  I was listening to those just...uh...oh crap...20 years ago!  Nowhere to be found were Cream, The Who, CSNY, The Band or Dylan.  Instead, Hendrix's Purple Haze was in heavy rotation with no other songs from the axe-man in sight.  Bad Company made a cursory appearance with Shooting Star, the most obvious but not best choice.  And Thorogood's Bad To The Bone was heard on no less than two separate occasions (of course, it could have been any Thorogood song since they all sound exactly the same).

This certainly isn't the musical diversity I want my child exposed to!  A world without the androgynous Ziggy Stardust or the hushed tones of Nick Drake?  I don't think so.  I guess it's time to pull another playlist together for my daughter.  And turn the radio off.

Hi! My name is.. (what?) My name is.. (who?)

The topic of names has come up many times here at DadCentric.  Just a few weeks ago Warren discussed the banning of names in certain countries, while Pierre, Peter, and Jason have all weighed in on the endless search for the perfect name in the past.  Few of us opt for the Foreman method of child naming, so the rest of us are left to analyze and ruminate over the thousands of naming options available.

Picking something that's somewhat unique without being embarrassing or trendy isn't easy.  That's why there are so many Aidan's and Emma's running around the playgrounds nowadays.  I stumbled across a cool tool the other day which helps you chart the popularity of names over time, which would have been an awesome resource before I went into the psychotic tailspin that left my daughter nameless for two days after her birth.  Sydney, for example, seems to have been virtually non-existent before Alias, while Myrtle seems to have been out of favor since before my parents were born.  I'm disappointed that my own name seems to have fallen out of favor, despite it's prominence among the mafioso and breakfast cereals.  Who wouldn't want to be associated with that?

There are other tools out there if you're really looking for something unique, but for my money the best source of names has just started its preseason.  That's right, the National Football Leagues sports some of the greatest names in the world, endlessly repeated by Al Michaels and Kenny Albert, modified by Chris Berman, and programmed into Madden '07.  What child wouldn't be proud to be named Boomer, Trung, or Amederboro?  Who's going to pick a fight with Kwaku?  Or Demon?  Or Takeo? 

We here at DadCentric are always happy to help expecting parents with the tough decisions in life.  Hopefully these tools and suggestions will make your decision a little easier.  Now if you don't mind, I have to go play with my daughter, Spergon...

A Small Incident

"Go tell Mommy what you just said," was all I could muster.  I needed clarifcation as to what just passed over and through my daughter's little 2.5-year-old lips.  I know she can't enunciate like the rest of us, but, this word is pretty much unmistakeable.  If you can say it, you can't mispronounce it.  It's one syllable for God's sake.  She strolls out of the bedroom where we had been playing and into the next room.

"Fuck, Mommy!"

These words reverberate off the hardwood floors and meander about the walls of our living room.  At supersonic speed, my wife's head looks up and she throws me a wide-eyed look as if to ask, "Did I just hear what I think I heard?"  Yes, you did.

"What was that honey?", my wife asks - trying to hide her horror.

"Fuck.  Fuck, Mommy!", she replies.

At this point, we realize there's no mistaking what she said.  It seems our loose lips have finally begun to bear fruit.  God, she can't even say "milk" right yet.  Let's try this one more time just to make sure.

"What did you say, Lu?", I ask.

"Fuck, Daddy!"

"Why don't you show me?", I say. 

Now, don't get your briefs in a wad here.  We all know she doesn't know what the word "fuck" means.  This is simply a question we ask of her when we're having a problem understanding what she's saying.  It comes in handy and she's pretty good at pointing to what she means or showing us what she's trying to communicate.  Perhaps we truly are not understanding her.

"Why don't you show me, Lu?", I repeat.  (Please, point to a book or something, kid.)

Not quite.  She gets on all fours and says again, "Fuck, Daddy!".

Oh Dear Tiny Baby Jesus.  I did NOT just see that.  There are so many things wrong with that picture I cannot even tell you.

And then she hops.

"FROG".  :-)

Newsflash: I don't like single people who don't like kids

There are days when I just should not be allowed to read certain Web sites.  On those days, I wish some sites were even more interactive; maybe the stories have a button you can click that tags the article with a big FU or something similar.  Or maybe it attaches a quote: "This writer is a big poopy-head" or "This person quoted really should start taking her meds again."  I guess, however, the point of such articles is to elicit a response either agreeing or disagreeing, passionate or dispassionate.  This is just such a story, for me anyway.

Now, the writer, Victoria Clayton, got to me right from the header: No Brats Allowed!  Well, that catches my attention.  None of us like brats.  We didn't like them growing up and we certainly don't want our children to become them.  But, the sub-head changes the tone: Is American society increasingly intolerant of tots?  Um, that's not really what you were talking about, is it?  Wouldn't a more appropriate sub be something in line with manners or behavior?  I mean, not all tots are brats.  And I know a few adults who would put the lie to the statement all brats are tots.  So, which is it?  Do people just not like brats or are more and more people becoming child-haters?  Let's see, shall we?

We've all heard the recent stories of a Starbucks here or some eatery there posting signs about children and how they should be seen, not heard - good little Stepford scions.  I think we all agree (though we may not - completely understandable) that children should be well-behaved when out and about and parents are ultimately responsible.  But, have we lost our sense of reason when we start petitions to establish child-free restaurants, "loosely compar(ing) dining with children to dining with cigarette smoke?"  Or some people "say(ing) they'd much rather see a dog at dinner, the movies or the mall than little "cretins." Dogs are better behaved, they smell better and they're much cuter, wrote one reader."  Who are "some people?"  Can I get a name, please?  I want to find where they're eating so I can bring in some mangy mutt that's just been rummaging around in dumpster juice, sit down next to them and say "Isn't he cuter than that child over there?" as he marks his territory on their Cole Haan's or Jimmy Choo's.  So far, looks like people just don't like children.  Maybe the brats will come up later.

Josephine Charlton, a p.r. consultant in West Hollywood (translation: out of work publicist (no offense Mrs. Jason)) says she "loves children but feels they are becoming public nuisances nonetheless."  Um, ok.  Yeah.  But, it gets better.  "Her local Whole Foods has been overrun by “breeders” with an oversized sense of entitlement, she says, museums are now inappropriately clogged with strollers, and even first-class travel has morphed into "Romper Room" in the air."  Ta-fuckin'-dah.  Loves children, my ass.  She's no different than the guy who tells off-color jokes and then makes up for it by saying "a lot of my friends are black."  And breeders?  Better than chain-smoking Virginia Slims and talking to 30 cats while knitting tea cozies for people who never visit.  But, for my money, here's the money quote: "Charlton, who doesn’t have children but describes herself as an adoring godmother of two, says too many parents act as if the earth revolves around their children, and the general public should treat them as such. Yet kids are more out of control than ever, she says."  I love the adoring godmother line.  I wonder if she even knows the responsibilities of a godmother.  Should anything happen to the parents of those children, will she still consider children a nuisance?  I imagine so.  What's the total now?  Don't like children: 2 Brats: 0.

This is about the point I'm ready to throw my fist through the monitor.  Just about halfway into the article.  I guess there's some passion there, huh?  But, finally, someone says something that makes sense.  Etiquette maven Cindy Post Senning argues that "society (is) simply becoming more intolerant of little tikes.  Almost every generation will try to say that the current generation is worse than ever,” says Senning, director of the Emily Post Institute, an organization founded in 1946 by our nation’s first grand dame of good manners, Emily Post, Senning’s great-grandmother. "I don’t think children are any worse than they’ve ever been.”  Thank you, Ms. Senning, for bringing a little sanity.  They are children after all.  They haven't been fully-school on society's mores so they may be loud or rambunctious at times.  There are times when I wish I could be a little more rambunctious.

I'll let you all analyze the rest and hopefully you'll leave comments either agreeing with my take on this or respectfully disagreeing.  Can we all agree that it's the responsibility of the parents to raise well-behaved, respectful and courteous children?  And can we also agree that children will be children, it's what they are for cryin' out loud?  Finally, can we agree that Ms. Clayton wrote an article that's less about brats than it is about an increasing intolerance for children in general?

Try Explaining This To The TSA Screeners

Here at DadCentric, we take an irreverent look at the world of fatherhood. In these often troubled times, there are myriads of issues facing dads around the world, and even though we enjoy a good laugh as much as the next guy, certain issues and events evoke pathos and call for a bit of sensitivity on our parts. Part of me - and you can probably guess which part after reading the article - really feels for Charles "Chick" Lennon.

Chick. Buddy. Come on. (Sorry. Bad pun. Sorry.) At some point during the chat you had with your doctor about PUTTING A STEEL ROD IN YOUR PENIS, you didn't think to raise your hand and say, "Y'know, Doc, this all sounds good, but are there any potential issues that may arise from, you know, PUTTING A STEEL ROD IN MY PENIS?" Yes, it may have sounded cool - wonder if the guy's favorite X-Man is Wolverine? - but you don't mess with The Gear! You wait for pharmaceutical science to catch up to you!

Lennon took an extreme course of action in order to overcome his erectile dysfunction. (Here I pause to ask myself, "Jason, way back when you were the editor of your high school newspaper, did you ever think there'd come a time when you'd be writing the phrase "erectile dysfunction" in a story about a guy with an Erector Set in his schlong, a story that would be read by dozens of people around the world?" Top of the world, ma! Top of the world!) His tale is a sobering reminder of a darker time, when sex was only for the young and men like Rod Stewart and Michael Douglas and Larry King weren't able to become really, really old and creepy dads.

Yes, Honey, Take Food From Strangers

Tonight on the drive back to DC, we stopped at The Big Blue Box for meatballs, lingonberry juice, and the chance to let the kid go wild on a storeful of toys we have no intention of buying.

While I was rummaging through the As-Is department--hey, just because I've never found anything good, and I don't have a workshop or any DIY projects in the pipeline doesn't mean there might not be a 107" Swedish plasma TV with a nick on it next time--the wife and the kid were waiting, playing in the tiny toy kitchen by the hotdog/cinnabun/ice cream cafe [no idea]. The kid was playing with a 4-yo girl whose mother was similarly waiting, and her sister. But the mother, was paying no attention to our kid or my wife [whose story this is, btw.] At all. A bit snooty, in fact.

And then when the girl went running over to her mom for a Swedish wafer cookie, our daughter scampered after, and the question of the day arose: Do you tell the stranger that yes, it's ok if she gives your daughter a cookie, too?

They were just-bought cookies, one, and apparently not psycho, two, and when my wife said one cookie was fine, the other mom got a little nicer. By the second round of cookies, the ladies were practically exchanging numbers for a babysitting swap, and then the other family's entourage arrived, and they took off.

So women use their intuition and bond with the strangers who feed their children. Fine. When my wife's telling me this story in the car, she admitted she was a little anxious about the whole scenario, though, but went ahead because she felt refusing the woman's cookie approval request [the woman had obviously, responsibly, told my daughter, "Does your mommy say it's alright? You should ask her first."] would've been unnecessarily impolite. So what did I do in such situations?

And it occurred to me, that, for all the time I spend soloing with the kid, I've never been in such a situation. Do I unconciously pre-empt such possibilities somehow, either by scheduling, demeanor, subtle redirection? Do other parents moms just throw up the estrogen wall on the playground, and I've ended up being dealt out of this foodsharing hand without even realizing it? I admit, I've never once offered food to a kid who comes wandering up to us while we eat lunch at the playground.  Or is it really not a mom vs dad thing, but just a question of a parent's temperament, trust levels, and on-the-spot judgment?  And what the hell happens if the kid starts taking food from strangers on a reuglar basis? The next thing you know, it's candy from a creep in a van, and--

There Is No "I" In T-E-A-M, Which Makes It Tough To Spell "Idiot"

Here's your homework. Read this piece by Rick Reilly. Then weigh in with your opinion - should the coach have pitched to the star batter? (The post's title should provide a clue as to my thoughts on the coach. I'll offer up my take in a future post; a publisher is sending me an advance copy of a book about the big business of Little League to review on this very site, and I think this article should tie in quite nicely.)

Yo, MSM! How about Some Co-sleeping Edjamacashun?

As one-half of a couple who co-slept with our babies - and who still shares a bed with his three-year-old until the little guy's ready for his own room - I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle whenever a story pops up about a baby suffocating in his parents' bed. The latest tragic report comes from Evansville, Indiana, where Jeffrey Spinks Jr. died after his one-year-old sister crawled into the bed with their mom.

Now, I'm not gonna go off on a pro-co-sleeping tangent here. (Thought I have to say that, as a co-sleeping dad, I'm endlessly amused when other guys ask me logistical questions: "So, what do ya do when you and your wife wanna...um...well, you know...") Kid in the crib, kid in the bed - whatever works best for you and your family, do it. But wouldn't it be nice if such articles were accompanied by up-to-date advice on how to sleep safely with your kids? For example, Kids' Health has one of the most balanced articles I've seen on the subject, balancing out the safety concerns promulgated by public health officials with advice from co-sleeping advocates about how to sleep with your child safely. Is it so hard for "journalists" to bring up Google and provide a little backstory?

This is zejay, cross-linking so the MSM don't have to.