The topic of discipline and how parents choose to discipline came up over the holidays while visiting my parents. I'm not sure how the discussion started but I remember standing around in the kitchen with my brother, his son, my boys, my father and, most likely my mother, when he mentioned being "beat" as a kid.
"Beat". Now that's a harsh word, to be sure. And I don't recall my brother getting "beat." I do recall him maybe getting slapped by my mom or my dad taking a belt to his ass. But those are fleeting memories at best. Probably because I am the youngest of four and by the time I got to the age to get in trouble, I knew what not to do because of the shit my two older brothers did.
So. Dad 2.0. We came, we saw, we made asses of ourselves (at least I did) on the karaoke floor. But what did we think of Dad 2.0.2? As before, I asked the fellows for their thoughts on the conference, via the magic of Electronic Mail. - Jason
Whit: I thought Dad 2.0 was much improved in places that I didn't even realize it needed improving. The panels weren't the typical rehashed conversations we tend to find at most conferences (something I am totally guilty of), and the keynotes were downright inspirational and amazing.
In addition, Dad 2.0 is obviously doing something right in the way it is reaching its potential attendees, because I have rarely been in a space where every next person is a conversation I have needed, and that happened here.
The whiskey tasting was nice, too.
Kevin: I agree with Whit on the whiskey tasting. Oh, and on the panels, too. Even the one I thought would be a rehash of Blogging 101 about building an audience gave me at least two or three new ideas.
I was truly apprehensive about a sophomore slump for Dad 2.0, but I thought it really did improve upon the previous one. The keynote speakers were all entertaining and mostly relevant to the audience, which I can't say about the two BlogHer conferences I've attended. While everything took place in the hotel, the facility was perfect in size and layout and being in a downtown location opened nighttime bonding possibilities not available the wilderness of Bastrop County, Texas, last year. I'm mean, a group of dads going out to karaoke two nights in a row? That was great.
Also, the Dove "Man Cave" was a nice touch, even though I got shut out of the a shave and haircut. However, I think attendees will all wear nicer shoes next year know knowing they have the opportunity to get a shine from a leggy Latvian blonde.
But most importantly, the people were great -- attendees, the Dad 2.0 staff, even the sponsors were incredibly cool as people throughout. I feel I truly made many personal connections I didn't at the last one.
Me (Jason. Avant, not Sperber. We need nicknames.): What I enjoyed: Brene Brown and David Eagleman; I spent some time talking to David about Science Things, and he's a great guy. His book "Sum" is amazing; if you liked "Einstein's Dreams", you'll dig it. The Writing A Wrong panel was terrific; Jon, Kristen and Jon were honest, vulnerable (!) and funny. I was thrilled to meet some really cool noobs - Chris Read and Carter Gaddis are great, and you at home need to read their stuff.
What I did not enjoy: the Brand Panel and the Creation and Curation panel. Kudos to C.C. Chapman for doing his very best with a group that for the most part had absolutely nothing of interest to say about a topic that's near and dear to most of us. Surrounding someone like Lisa Hickey (who's done a great job turning The Good Men Project into a genuine success story) with a self-published local author who only has a handful of Twitter followers, an author who admitted that he knows very little about social media, and a couple of guys who are still trying to figure out what to do with some videos that they made four years ago? I'd much rather have listened to C.C. share his considerable knowledge and experience. As for the Brand Panel, the guy from Huggies really needs to learn how to speak to a hostile audience. The folks from Kraft and Sears seemed genuinely interested to engage with dads; the Huggies guy was dismissive and condescending. As an audience member, I was put off; as a consumer, if I still had kids in diapers, I'd never buy his product and would actively encourage parents to go with Huggies' competitors. I was disappointed that due to the schedule, I could only go to one breakout session. As a panelist and panel planner, I could have very easily done my session in an hour; freeing up 30 minutes there and 30 minutes somewhere else might've allowed for people to go to 2 panels a day.
Overall, though, I'd call it a success. And yeah, the nights out were way too much fun. I was inspired to quit my day job and join the Karaoke Circuit. I'm sure Gwyneth will return my calls.
Sometimes, when I'm in other countries, or just among people who speak different languages, I get myself into trouble. At various times since I was a little kid, I've studied German, Spanish, French, and Russian. I have retained, at the very least, a couple phrases in each of these languages, and a foolhardy urge to use them in the presence of native speakers. My accent and delivery is just good enough that my interlocuter assumes that I'm actually capable of carrying on a conversation. Embarrassment ensues. I dig deep for one of the first phrases one learns in any language: "Do you speak English?"
Similar trouble has cropped up for me in my new hobby: Mixed Martial Arts. In the three weeks that I've been working out at my local boxing/Muay Thai/pummeling gym, I've picked up some basic skills. That, plus my unconscious absorption of cinematic martial arts choreography, and my generally battered appearance, has given other members at my gym the mistaken impression that I'm conversant in fisticuffs. In fact, I'm much better at speaking Vietnamese than fighting--and I can barely order an iced coffee at the pho house without pointing at the menu.
I wrote an essay at The Atlantic about my desire to learn how to fight, and most of the commenters--some of them experienced brawlers themselves--told me that I was an idiot and I would end up in the hospital. This gave me some pause, but I figured I had enough sense to bail if I felt uncomfortable.
After a week or so of training, I wrote a little update where I chuckled about my fears. This gym wasn't Fight Club after all: just a fun new way to burn some calories.
Shortly after that sanguine assessment of my new diversion, shit got real. Just as I was getting comfortable with punching and kicking the "Thai pads" held by my sparring partners, and starting to feel like they noticed the impact, the instructor had us drop the pads. It's one thing to practice a combination of punches and kicks on targets that are more or less where you expect them to be, and quite another to try to remember how to throw a push-kick while someone is punching you in the face.
In my teaching experience, both as an English teacher and a ski instructor, I've been an adherent of the "scaffolding" concept: Teach discrete skills and weave them all together so the student can gain confidence as he or she approaches the ultimate goal. My Muay Thai instructor seems to have a more "holistic" approach. Teach a couple moves and then throw the student into the lion's den to fend for himself.
The last time I went to the fighting gym, we warmed up as usual by jumping rope and shadow boxing. Then the instructor barked at us to put on our shin guards and gloves, and pair up.
I did as I was told, and partnered with a guy about my size who didn't look particularly intimidating. Having received absolutely no instruction on how hard to hit, or any other particulars, I started fighting. I assumed we were not allowed to elbow each other in the face.
Welcome to the DadCentric Roundtable. Recently, we had an email discussion about the upcoming Dad 2.0 Summit; many of us went to last year's, a few of spoke on panels, and it was a good time. As the second rolls around, we thought we'd have a chat about what we're hoping to get out of Dad 2.0.2, and whether or not blog conferences have any value (outside of getting knee-walking drunk with your Internet pals).
Jason: C.C. Chapman recently posted a great piece on conferences, and how many of them fail to provide anything of substance to experienced folks. We're all graying, surly veterans of the dadblogging scene: apart from getting the chance to watch Andy display his karaoke talents and Whit threaten fellow attendees with that knife he keeps in his boot, is there any tangible value to attending Dad 2.0? In other words, can old dogs like us learn any new tricks?
Seth: Some of us aren't as long in the tooth as you guys. (Ahem.) I wish I were going. I think I'd learn something about the business behind blogging, which I'm pretty ignorant about. Then again, what I learn may only serve to bum me out. The biggest reason I wish I were attending this year is the drunken fellowship. And I can testify firsthand to the fact that Hinds does a pretty badass Johnny Cash.
A group of Unidentified Dadbloggers at the 2011 Mom 2.0 Summit
Greg: I don't think anyone is going to teach me anything new about SEO or Typepad tricks. I'd like to see more of how blogging is changing journalism...
Homemaker Man: I've never been to a blog conference of any kind, so for me, I think'd it be useful on some level, if just getting to meet everyone and so forth.
TwoBusy: It all depends on what you mean by learning. If you mean technical tricks of the trade... I have no idea. Is that part of the Dad 2.0 agenda, the way it is at BlogHer? I'm such a technophobe I've never seriously considered that kind of learning as a serious option. That being said, I think there'll probably be plenty to be learned in the sense of meeting people, hearing great stories, and - as a result of all that drunken fellowship (as is often the case: Seth nailed it) - finding some new perspective or inspiration that pushes you & your writing in a different direction.
Or , alternately, you just go out drinking and karaoke-ing with Mr. Hinds and end up making pee angels on the sidewalk at 6am. (see under: cautionary tales/Andy Herald)
My thinking on the whole princess thing has evolved. In the last four years, it's gone from, "Hell no--keep that shit out of my house," to "Well...just a little princess-play can't hurt," to "Let me introduce you to my daughters, Cinderella and Rapunzel."
I remember, months before the twins were born, we had accrued a mountain of pink, frilly hand-me-downs from friends and family. As the due date got closer, my wife and I tried to organize the mound by separating it into bins based on size. In doing so, we had a chance to cull the worn out, shit-stained, or just butt ugly clothes.
Most of the clothes were in good shape, and cute enough, so we didn't have to consign much to the rag bag. But there was one rule I insisted on following: anything with the word "Princess" on it went to charity or to the "paint" section of the garage.
I know princess narratives have become more empowering to girls in the last few decades, but the message of the classic princess stories is "Be kind, graceful, selfless, patient, compliant, and--most importantly--beautiful, and all your dreams will come true." Of course, "all your dreams" equals "having a handsome rich guy sweep you off of your feet and take care of you for the rest of your life.
I want my girls to have bigger dreams than that. Furthermore, it seems like when parents call their girls "Princess," those parents aren't necessarily encouraging them to be selfless and kind, but rather teaching them that they're entitled to whatever they want because they're cute and special. And, although I believe that my own girls are cute and special and deserve everything, the last thing I want is to let them know it.
Yet somehow, despite my objections, the princess trope made its way into my kids' consciousness and into my house. It started with party favors and gifts from well-meaning friends who, in most cases, weren't trying to totally undermine my feminist buzzkill convictions.
I tweeted a sarcastic tweet the other day, and ended up on national TV, as part of what will probably come to be known as the most ridiculous of all parent blogging controversies ever.
So there's this dad blogger who writes, in an offhand way, apropos of almost nothing, that he favors his older son over the younger one. This inspires a bunch of comments saying how mean he is for writing that, and how his youngest will probably read it and hate him one day.
Then he writes a post to clarify his original one. This is the point at which he could have said: "Well, that was a poor choice of words. What I really meant to say is that I like the 5-year old stage better than the 2-year old stage." That would have been only a little dicky rather than flat-out cruel. But instead, he attempts a very risky stunt: He simultaneously backpedals and doubles down. He says that he only likes the older kid better because he's more fun right now and can do more stuff, and his relationship with the younger child is still developing. That sounds a little more reasonable, right? But. Instead of conceding that maybe he should have phrased it differently, he essentially says, "And if that's what 'favorite' means, then, yeah...he's my favorite. You know you've got a favorite too. You should admit it. Feels good." It's almost like he's being controversial on purpose, to get some pageviews and media attention or something.
Oh, hey. He does get a bunch of attention! This becomes "news," and international media outlets cover the "story." The blogger sticks to his guns on all the interviews he does, and never admits that there's any problem with announcing his favoritism on the internet and now on TV. His statements are preserved in countless forums across the internet, which his kids will certainly run across one day. (For their sake, I hope they recognize it as one of wacky ol' Dad's ploys to get famous.)
The streets of Chicago ran argyle today as the teachers of the city took to them to demand soaring salaries and shorter days.
"It's all about da Benjamins, baby!" Screeched 47 year old 9th grade Civics teacher Mary Ellen Bartrow. "Why do you think I went into teaching in the first place?" Continued Ms. Bartrow, "Cash Money mutha fucka! Teaching has always been about making that paper."
Her fellow union members seemed to agree. "I teach algebra, son!" Said Mr. William Levy, of the Lincoln Middle school. "You can't figure for X until you know for sure that Y=$." Said the 26 year veteran teacher.
"Money money money money. Money! " Chanted 8th grade French teacher Larry Guillaume. "Look," Mr. Guillaume expounded, "if it was about the kids, I would've managed a Chuck E Cheese. Or been a politician. In teaching, money talks and merde de taureau walks. C'est la vie."
There's no point in avoiding it anymore. The presidential campaign is on, in all its twisted, perverse splendor. I thought I wasn't going to get completely wrapped up in it this time; but really, once I saw Clint Eastwood berating a chair at the Republican National Convention, I knew that there was no turning back. Now it's pretty much all I can think about.
The Democrats will have their turn starting later today at the convention in Charlotte, and I'm sure some hi-jinx and cringe-inducing stagecraft is in the offing from their side as well.
But meanwhile I've been reading and seeing and hearing a theme in the reporting on President Obama that, frankly, I find quite touching. Maybe I'm a sap who is blinded by my own lefty political leanings and relatively recent entry into fatherhood, but when the President responds to criticism that he's bad at "schmoozing" by explaining that he'd rather spend his evenings and weekends with his family than with lobbyists and donors, I get a little misty.
This piece in the New Yorker looks at some of the reasons that Republicans are eating Obama's lunch when it comes to squeezing campaign money out of billionaires. The author, Jane Mayer, speculates that part of it is due to the President's discomfort with the influence of the super-rich in political campaigns, especially since it's become virtually unfettered since the Supreme Court's "Citizens United" decision, to which Obama has expressed opposition from day one. It would look bad for him to go after all the money that was freed up by that decision now.
But, as Mayer explains, the President claims that, really, he simply wants to be home for dinner and to help his daughters with their school work.
My second thought, after the sentimental swooning passed, was: how is the Romney camp going to turn this against Obama?
Even if Obama is using his super-dad cred to avoid saying that he doesn't want to spend any more time with sleazy politicos and influence-peddlers than he has to, how can his opponents find fault with his statements? If it's a calculated move to increase his likeability factor, it's ingenious.
Then I read this piece on CNN.com, along with a video teaser for an upcoming interview with the President. The angle on this was a bit different, focusing less on the criticism of Obama's fund-raising acumen, and more on what his opponents say is his lack of willingness to reach across the aisle. In other words, he's not schmoozing enough with his political foes, i.e., consensus building, because he wants to spend more time with his family.
And sure enough, several commenters on the CNN.com article accuse him of not making the sacrifices that come with being the Leader of the Free World. If members of our Armed Forces are expected to miss out on family time, shouldn't the Commander in Chief be willing to do the same?
I have to admit, had G.W. Bush said he couldn't make it to a war briefing because Jenna had a mid-term and he needed to read flash-cards with her, I would not have been sympathetic.
But, on the other hand, the schmoozing Obama is avoiding seems to be of the glad-handing, back-room-deal sort that all politicians, especially conservatives, claim to loathe.
What do you think about Obama playing the dad-card when pressed about his disinterest in schmoozing? Is he an inspiration to parents, or is he shirking his responsibilities to his party and/or his country?
At the beginning of August I once again went to the big, huge, enormous, ladies' blogging conference, over there in New York City, New York, US of A, as did a few of my fellow DadCentricians and some other unaffiliated dudes. It was really, really big, and there were plenty of ladies there. Like around five thousand of them. There were some speakers whose names you might recognize: Katie Couric, Martha Stewart, Soledad O'Brien, Christy Turlington, and Barack Obama (via video feed), to name a few.
It was a nice party. The food was plentiful and mostly good, and mostly free. There were a lot of talks given by a lot of bloggers and other social media types who had a lot of worthwhile ideas about which they were quite passionate. I attended a couple of these talks and, as is usually the case, got briefly excited, and then thought about how the issues discussed pertained to me or the non-parentblogging world. Then I shrugged, and looked for the next cocktail party.
My take-home from the official conference events and ancillary chatter was that if you don't write for one or more of the big parenting websites, and you're not ready to hustle your ass off courting sponsors 24/7, blogging about your life and your family is not going to pay the bills. This was not a revelation that hit me like a ton of bricks as I had gotten that particular cosmic memo a while back, but it did sometimes make me feel like I was participating in a bizarre charade.
That sounds bad, I know. But there were plenty of real moments too, and that made the trip worth taking. And there were also plenty of amazing writers who weren't necessarily chasing dreams of buying groceries with their ad revenue. Some of these writers read their stuff at the Voices of the Year presentation, which, for my money, blew the famous keynoters' doors off.
Karaoke Survivor, 4:00 a.m.
Of the three nights I spent in New York, it was only on the first, Thursday, that I didn't stay up long enough to see the hazy glimmering of a sweltering sunrise over Manhattan. On Friday, the after-party provoked an impromptu and overly enthusiastic karaoke adventure, and I awoke around 1:00 p.m.. I tried to speak to my roomie, and found that somehow I had swapped larynxes with Harvey Firestein. This condition persisted until at least a week later, but it didn't stop me from repeating the karaoke freakout with an even bigger group the next night.
Pee Angel: a karaoke casualty, Times Square, 6:00 a.m.
Blogging conferences are inherently weird because of the interfacing of online and real worlds. But as has been my experience at the other conferences I've attended, talking to my imaginary friends in the flesh was a seamless transition. I met some people whose words I had been reading for ages, and was not disappointed in their fleshly presences. I reconnected with some great people I had met previously. I met some amazing folks that I had never even known existed. And somehow I became the darling of the lesbian momblogging parentblogging community, a distinction I plan on cherishing and nurturing until they tire of me, which has probably already happened.
If you're not a parenting blogger, you may have never heard of the annual BlogHer conference, which is kicking off in two days. Allow me to explain.
BlogHer conferences are where about eleventy-million ladies and maybe six or seven dudes get together in some glamorous location and talk about parenting and blogging and parentblogging and making money from all those things and also some stuff mostly about just being ladies in general.
Before the big conference every year, there are lots of blog posts and facebook status updates and tweets that indicate a high level of excitement and pants-peeing in the mom blogging community. This post on Mom 101 includes a pie chart demonstrating the topics many lady bloggers are freaking out about, which mainly include clothing choices, collecting free merch, and the prospect of interacting with their blogging heroes. Mmmm...pie.
I went to BlogHer last year, because it was just down the street from my house. It was cool. I met a lot of people and scored an electric nose-douche. I screwed up and didn't pick up the bag of dildos that some of my friends got, though. Still, mostly good times.
This year the conference is in New York City, which is not such a bad place either. I will be attending. I'm looking forward to it. I'm not freaking out so much, although perhaps I should be.
Maybe I'm just not freaking out because I'm a little sleepy and I have a lot of other stuff to be freaking out about at the moment. But as a public service to any other dudes that may be attending BlogHer 2012, I'm going to try to muster as much panic as I can in order to fill in the blanks in this obligatory pre-conference list, even though you still have plenty of time to prepare. Here goes:
The Tips
Plan your wardrobe so that you have one shirt for each day.
Remember to put on the shirt in the morning, not in the evening. That way, after you sleep in it, you'll have a fresh one to put on the next day. (Example: Put on blue shirt on Friday morning, sleep in blue shirt Friday night, put on yellow shirt Saturday morning, sleep in yellow shirt Saturday night, etc.)
You should have some pants too. No one will look at your pants so it doesn't really matter if you sleep in the same ones every night. I prefer shorts with lots of pockets.
Bring your analgesic of choice and some multivitamins. There will be a lot of free booze but no free Tylenol.
You'll probably meet some internet famous people you've never heard of. Pretend that you're really excited to meet everyone. That way the famous people won't think you are a dick, and the nonfamous people will just think you're weird and who cares about them anyway.
You should, at some point, look at the schedule and figure out roughly where you're going to go when. But if you don't get around to it, don't worry. There are thousands of moms everywhere who will tell you what to do.
Be prepared for enormous--and completely empty--conference center men's rooms. They can be a little creepy, so you might want to get a friend to go in with you.
You should probably get some business cards. Everyone seems to have them. Shit. Maybe I can get some made in time for next year.
Don't be an idiot and stay in the hotel the whole time. You're in New York City. (Residents of New York City can ignore this.)
Bring a towel? I don't know. I needed something to make it an even ten.
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