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Monday, April 10, 2006

Zombie Is Not a Cool Parent

My son is five and has already decided that I am lame.

I remember when he was just a wee foetus in my belly and his father and I would talk about what it would be like to be parents. It would go a little something like this:

Me: Do you think he'll like us when he's older?

Him: Oh hell yeah. We're awesome. Look, I have long hair. I always wanted my dad to have long hair.

Me: Yeah, but you're going bald...

Him: That's not a bald spot! That's a cowlick!

Me: Okay, whatever...but seriously, do you think he will like us?

Him: What's not to like? We're metal.

Me: Yes, we are indeed metal. But don't kids always hate their parents eventually?

Him: No way. We'll be the cool parents. All the kids will love us.

Me: What if he turns out to be a football-playing jock with a crewcut? Then what? Can you see us sitting in the bleachers, dressed as we are and, like, cheering with the other parents? If he scores a touchdown, are you going to do the Cookie Monster growl thing you do for the band? Hmm? What if I do metal hands? He will be embarassed.

Him: Blasphemy!

So, it turns out that my fears came true and Asher thinks I am lame. He is a very metal little boy, so that's not the problem. No, the problem is the fact that I am embarassing in other ways.

Case in point:

I took both kids to the park a couple of weeks ago. It was a lovely day outside and I figured they could run off some excess energy (these kids is crazy, man, they never tire out - I think they run off static electricity from the carpet). We played at the park for a while and then it was time to go home for dinner.

"Come on, guys, let's go!" I say.

They reluctantly follow me down the gravel path. I figure, to liven things up a bit and keep them from running out into the road and getting smashed by a car, we should play a game. Because don't kids like games? Don't they like to play games with their parents? Aren't parents that play games with their kids cool, and engaged, and involved and therefore awesome?

Apparently not.

"Let's play Simon Says!" says me, cheerfully.

My daughter readily agrees.

My son says nothing.

"Simon Says march!" I say, and my daughter and I start marching up the road.

I hear a scuffling sound behind me, and my son tugs on my shirt.

"Mom," he sighs. "Simon Says walk normal."

Then he shakes his little round head at me, as if I were the dumbest motherfucker on the planet, and walks ahead of us.

Now, I'm sure I did look like a moron, I grant you. But still.

Little beast.

link | posted by Zombie at 6:28 PM |


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