DadCentric

Special Guest Dad Ben Cohen-Leadholm Takes Us Ice Fishing

Our friend and today's special guest blogger Ben Cohen-Leadholm is one of those guys that sorta pisses you off because he's thought of a gazillion awesome things to do with kids that you haven't. Ben is the author of the family activities blog Kids Are Awesome But So Am I, helping parents reclaim their mojo through kids’ activities that don’t suck. He is the co-author of Have No Career Fear: A College Grad’s Guide to Snagging a Job, Trekking the Career Path, and Reaching Job Nirvana. Find him on Twitter (@parentingmojo), Facebook (www.facebook.com/kidsactivity), and Email (blswes@gmail.com). Here, Ben has a great idea for a fun activity that'll get you outside on a cold February day: ice fishing.

Ice fishing could probably benefit from some re-branding. Because ice fishing is one of the best (and sadly misunderstood) winter activities around, especially for kids.

Think about the simple yet compelling ice fishing equation: enjoying the outdoors, appreciating nature and wildlife, hanging with family and friends, imbibing some “warming” drinks, and snagging fresh delicious fish you’ll get to eat that night. Plus, there are all the stories you’ll be telling your friends over beers (or whole milk) from the day’s adventures. So push any ice fishing stereotypes out of your mind that you might see on a show like Ice Men on the VERSUS network – those caricatures are both entertaining and ridiculous. For example, you’re not going to get frostbite, you’re not going to fall into a fishing hole, and you will not be defending your catch from bears. Promise. 

One More Thing To Keep You Up At Night: Teens Using Vodka-Soaked Tampons To Get Drunk

And you thought Whippits were bad. 

Dear Science: please hurry and develop Suspended Animation Technology so that we can cryo-freeze our kids until a cure for stupid is created.

Yes, These Kids' Parents Dressed Them As The Jersey Shore Gang For Halloween

This has been going on for weeks: "Dad, can I go as Killer Croc?" "No." "Why?" "Because no one knows who Killer Croc is." "Oh. Then can I go as Cad Bane?" "No." "Why?" "Because no one knows who Cad Bane is." "Oh. How about Nick Fury?" "Do you want to shave your head?" "No, I mean THE ORIGINAL Nick Fury." 

Sigh. At least he's considering costumes that a few of his second grade classmates might get. And regardless of what he ends up wearing, we draw the line at letting him dress up like The Situation. Unlike these kids' parents.

(Photo via this Flavorwire post: "Kids' Halloween Costumes That They're Too Young To Understand". Bob Ross? Really?)

Soberlink Is Like LoJack For Your Drunk Teenagers

Wanna hear my favorite teenaged drinking story? Of course you do. So: high school, my senior year, I'm one of the few people in my circle of friends who has his "own" car. (It was a used Pontiac Phoenix, paid for by my dad - I was responsible for gas, and not wrapping it around a tree.) The plan for that evening was to go to the hockey game between my school and our cross-town rival; we'd have beer, of course (one of the guys' dads held fairly liberal views on teenaged male beer consumption, and provided us with a twelver of Moosehead, our beer of choice - this was Anchorage, Alaska, and we felt the need to support the economy of our Canadian neighbors). We'd drink a few in the parking lot before heading in to the game. Now, lest you think I was a complete delinquent, we brought a bag of chips, and I was limiting myself to one beer, since I was the driver. We pounded the beers in the parking lot, and I made sure that all of the bottles were disposed of - didn't want to leave any evidence, of course.

The next morning, my dad took the car out to run an errand. When he came back, his expression was stern. I felt a tinge of panic: did I do something to the car? He asked but one question: "Were you guys drinking last night?" The panic threatened to boil over. He suspects something! But we got rid of the evidence! The bottles were gone! I made sure of it!

Things I'm Keeping My Daughter The Hell Away From, Part I: Beauty Pageants

In many ways, sadly, it's still a Man's World, and a great many men still adhere to the hopelessly outdated notion that being a beauty pageant contestant is something that little girls should aspire to. I respectfully disagree; while I'm sure that the ability to walk around in heels and a bathing suit is a valuable Life Skill, I'm steering her in a different direction - an educated, intelligent citizen of the world. Apparently, that's not really a priority for the folks at the Miss USA pageant; they like their gals young, skinny, and God-fearin' (we're assuming that Barefoot and Pregnant comes later, else why bother to have a Mrs. USA pageant?) In this video, Don Draper's idealized future of American womanhood is asked whether or not evolution should be taught in school. (As you watch it, keep in mind that it's not intended as a joke; this is part of the Miss USA marketing campaign, and is supposed to be sending the message that these women are setting a fine example to our kids.) My daughter is three, and she's already got a leg up on 99% of the vacuous bimbos in this video: she knows that dinosaurs existed, and can even name several. 

Damn, that vid's about 15 minutes long. For those of you who haven't the time, patience, or stomach for it, here's the highlight reel:

 

Chris Rock famously joked that his main job as father to his daughter is simple: keep her off The Pole. Stuff like this reinforces our shared belief. I'm fiercely protective of my daughter, in ways that weren't immediately apparent to me but have crystalized as she's developed into a thinking person. Keep her off the pole, yes; keep her mind sharp and open, and keep instilling in her the belief that she's only a caricature if she chooses to be? HELL yes.

Heroes and Villains and Fake Proms

 Let's talk about bullies. They seem to be winning these days. And they seem to be getting support from the people that are supposed to stand up for their victims. Phoebe Prince killed herself rather than face another humiliation at the hands of her tormentors. You'd think that the school board would be looking inward, trying to figure out what they could have done to help Phoebe, to understand that when it comes to bullies, silence means approval. You'd think they'd admit that they'd bear some responsibility, because they were charged with the most sacred duty imaginable - the care and protection of kids.

You'd be wrong.

In Constance McMillen's case, the bullies are classmates AND the school administration. Constance, of course, is the girl whose school decided to cancel their prom because she might go and she's a lesbian and what would Jesus and Jefferson Davis think of a gay person attending a prom? (An aside: I really do hate making generalizations of the South - I have friends and family in Dixie, and South Carolina is one of the loveliest places I've been to, thanks in no small part to the people there. But really, The South, you are running out of excuses.) Well, the school cancelled the "real prom". Sorta. Actually, they did have a school-sponsored prom, and Constance was invited. It was chaperoned by the principal and a couple of teachers. Not that their presence was needed. Because Constance was one of only seven students that were invited. The rest of the students? They were whooping it up at a "secret prom" organized by the parents, with the full knowledge of the school board. Their cover-up attempt was something right out of Gomer Pyle's playbook. Psst! Homophobic teens! Wanna keep your Straight Prom secret? Don't post pictures of it on Facebook! (Google "Itawamba prom Facebook pictures" if you want to see them, because I'm pretty sure I'd get in trouble posting pictures of drunk 16 year-olds on my website.) The kicker: the two special needs students who were also not invited to the secret prom - apparently the good people of Shitkicker, Mississippi think that "people can catch them learnin' disabilities like they can catch The Gay". 

There are villains in this world, and some of them are teaching our children. They turn a blind eye to cruelty; worse, they shrug and say it's not their job to intervene. They wrap themselves in American flags and quote the Bible and claim to hold the moral high ground, while destroying the lives of those who are "different". It must stop. 

But lest we forget, there are also heroes. Constance's quote about those two special needs kids speaks volumes. "They had the time of their lives. That's the one good thing to come out of this...(those kids) didn't have to worry about people making fun of them."  Now that's a girl I'd be proud to call my daughter.

Catacombs and the Forbidden City - A DadCentric Book Review

You know how I feel about the books and the action and the mystery and the stuff.  I'm for it. 

I'm always looking for the next Encyclopedia Brown to come along.  Maybe a Three Investigators.  Hey, it could happen.

That's why I was pleasantly surprised to learn that a friend of a friend had published a book called Catacombs and the Forbidden City, which critics have suggested is akin to Indiana Jones meeting the Magic Tree House.  Harry Potteresque some said.  They did, I read the reviews.

Mutual friends do what mutual friends do and suddenly the lovely Sarah Gerdes was at my door with, and I'm looking at you, FTC, a FREE COPY OF HER BOOK.  Also, chocolates.  Wait, ALSO CHOCOLATES.  FOR FREE, FTC, FOR FREE.   I gave her water because she's pregnant and didn't want coffee or whiskey even though I insisted that the US medical experts were a bunch of cowards and prudes, and get this, FTC, she received it at no charge.  However, and this cannot be stressed enough, I DID NOT TRADE WATER TO A PREGNANT WOMAN FOR CHOCOLATES AND A BOOK.

And the Winner Is...

David Thomas, you're on the clock.

There were five (5) entries in the Skulduggery book giveaway.  I assigned each a number based upon the order of their comments.  I then went to Random.org, which oddly enough is not about the girls I knew in college, but rather a site that generates numbers at... wait for it, random!

As you can see, one die was rolled and it landed on the number 5 which belongs to Mr. David "Winner" Thomas.

Contact DadCentric for your winnings and let the gloating begin, you lucky bastard.

Scare Tactics

Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't there a time, not so long ago, when Halloween was fun?  Once upon a time, it was a night to dress up in something silly or scary and travel house-to-house (or, for you city-dwellers, your apartment lobby) scaring up delicious chocolates and the occasional squirrel nut zippers.  As you got older, your trick-or-treating might have evolved into some merry mischief making involving eggs, toilet paper and shaving cream or possibly a water-filled fire extinguisher (I wouldn't know anything about any of that, of course...nope...not me...not in the slightest).  And, even older still, you found yourself doing the Time Warp, throwing toast and yelling, "You slut!" maybe while dressed as Dr. Frank N. Furter (again, not me - no, really, not me) at a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Fast-forward to today and you find yourself with kids of your own and, rather than embrace the fun that this night brings, you're terrified.  The news each day brings us more warnings and tips on how to keep our kids safe; the dangers of too much chocolate and baggy costumes; the need for designing routes and exit plans; and, most importantly, the danger the holiday holds for Fido and Mr. Whiskers.  These warnings from "experts" and do-gooders essentially suck the fun out of what should be a fun time.  Hell, there's even an ad on television about giving away Play-Doh instead of candy - don't these people know how horrible Play-Doh tastes?  Doh≠Dough - Doh!  There should be a warning about that!  Stupid Hasbro.

Listen, if you're reading this blog, it is generally assumed you are an intelligent person, even above-average as far as smarts are concerned (not we writers however - dumbest sumbitches to walk the earth - amazing we even remember how to breathe).  It is also assumed you have a wee bit of the sense that is common - you do not need Fire Marshall Bill to tell you how to keep your kids safe.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe you're sending your three-year-old outside by himself dressed like a ninja from head-to-toe with instructions to only visit houses where it looks like no one is home.  Of course you wouldn't.  So, why would you let some bubble-headed-bleach-blonde frighten you out of having a good time with your kids?  C'mon - dig out that clever costume, grab your kids and have some fun.  You might even get some Mary Janes or Pixy Stix for your trouble.

Putting the "Pub" in Puberty

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but what the hell is the deal with all of the underage drunk girls?  Seriously?  I don't know, maybe it's the dad talking, but I'm not sure it's as cool as E! wants us to believe.

They are everywhere, and for some reason there isn't much of an outcry from our otherwise prudent society.  Sure, their antics make for great headlines and some decent side-boob shots, but the Lohans of the world aren't even old enough to get into bars- shouldn't that raise some concern?

I'm not going to pretend that I didn't partake when I was younger.  I spent many a weekend night with my friends in the Alpha Beta parking lot, standing around, listening to Guns and Roses and The Beastie Boys, waiting for the few girls that would hang out with us to pimp their goods in the face of the right horny shopper and score us twenty bucks worth of crappy beer and 2-liter bottles of wine coolers.  What else were we going to do, bowl?

We, however, were not on the national news every night, and we most definitely were not in bars.  I didn't get my fake ID until I was 20.  By the time Lindsay and friends turned twenty we had been following their clubbing lifeystyle for years. Years.

How are these ladies, and of course the hordes of hormones and cameras that follow them, getting into places that are designed by law to keep them out?  If the paparazzi was replaced by 60 Minutes the doors would be shut tight, but Andy Rooney isn't taking the bait.  Why, besides the fact that I'm pretty sure he's dead, wouldn't a respectable news guy/humorist want to expose this?  Because it's not news, and it's only slightly funny.

America loves underage drunk girls.

I must be getting old. Think I'll head down to Alpha Beta.