Kids these days. So serious. I find myself regularly attempting to lighten the mood when interacting with my two sons. When I was twelve I wasn’t concerned about punctuality or war with Russia. I was worried about whether it would be too hot to have success fishing for lunkers in the stock pond by the time I finished my chores (which involved mostly accidental killings of the yellow squash plants via errant hoeing in our quarter-acre-garden. [shrug] It happened again. I guess those darn squash bugs are getting more aggressive. Although they never seem to go after the melons.)
Anywho, my youngest son had a mini-crisis last night based on his completely rational fear that his teachers will unilaterally flunk him after he misses a week of classes due to our up-coming family trip. Because of course this is what teachers get off on—failing their most invested students for daring to engage with their families on eye-opening, perspective increasing travel. Teachers hate that kind of crap, and I held nothing back while informing my son of this reality.
I mean, there is nothing teachers hate more than when their most eager students learn something. Even worse when they have the gall to learn outside of the classroom. Damn right, those teachers are going to unleash the full extent of their teacherly authority on your sorry butt the moment you return from your travels, son. They are going to give you triple the work and half the time to ensure you flunk out and are forced to take a menial job using all those precious skills and lessons you learned while your hippie parents were trying to expose you to different cultures. And those teachers will be right to do so! There is no culture but my culture! There is no right way but my way!
By this point, my son has given the wife a skeptical, sideways glance followed by an extremely dramatic eye roll and head shake. “Okay, Dad. I get it.”
Of course we followed up this conversation an hour later by addressing his real concerns about traveling someplace he’s never been before and about his fear of the unknown. That, at least, is much more rational. But still, can’t kids these days just engage in being kids? Have I ever given him reason to be concerned about my judgement when exposing him to new experiences? I mean, I’ve never even forgotten him at the Walmart (which is more than I can say for my pops).
Is the world really circling the drain so dramatically that children have no choice but to confront the shortened reality of their childlike ways? If anything, it seems like kids are growing up slower and later than they were back in my day. So what? They spend twenty five years engaging in irresponsible angst before becoming emotionally-shriveled adults? Have we reduced childhood to the first six years of life while expanding the teenage years to cover from 7 to 25? How is that a good idea?
In an attempt to counter this cultural epidemic, I’ve begun a campaign of prolonged healthy childishness. I invite anyone and everyone to join in. It’s simple. To participate, all you have to do is respond to every serious question with one simple answer: “Up your butt.”
I have found this campaign to work wonders with my children. For example: “Hey, Dad? Have you seen my water bottle?” Then I respond, “Yeah, I think the last time I saw it, it was…up your butt!” My son: “I can’t find my headphones!” Me: “Have you looked…up your butt!?” My son, “Do I have to practice the piano right now?” Me: “Hmmm. It’s either that or…up your butt!”
In all honesty, the actual results of this campaign have been inconclusive. My sons still seem pretty serious and glum about life. But I, on the other hand, am cracking myself up routinely. And that’s worth something, right? Right? Well, if you don’t like it, you know where you can shove it.
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