“When the chairman
introduced the guest speaker as a former illegal alien, I got up from my chair
and yelled, ‘What's the matter, no jobs on Mars?’ When no one laughed, I was
embarrassed. I don't think people should make you feel that way.” – SNL’s “Deep
Thoughts” by Jack Handey
I’ve begun noticing
a few things coming into perspective as my son creeps ever-closer to the age of
adolescence. His personality has really
started coming into its own. From his
choice of mass media right down to his choice of clothes. I have also noticed that he has started
voicing and cementing his personal opinions and preferences with greater
frequency. Same could be said, I guess,
for how he wishes to be portrayed in public.
I can remember
going through the same with my parents, particularly in the area of my parents’
version of their son’s image versus my own.
They wanted to see me as the neighborhood’s clean-cut boy next
door…while I wanted to see myself as the bass player from the hard rock band Motley
Crue. Pressed khakis versus ripped
jeans. Collared dress shirts versus
concert tees. Polar opposite identities
with a side order of hormonal adolescent friction. Yes indeed…clothes shopping was always a riot
with my mom.
It all started out
small at first, much like the course that my son is currently navigating, but
continued to grow and assert itself throughout my teens. Later discussions with my parents typically
revolved around the length of my hair and whether or not leather jackets and
high-top sneakers were acceptable church attire. We got through it though and I now find myself
repeating many of those mom and dadisms to my own children, much to my parent’s
amusement.
Insult-to-injury,
I’m now bald and wear khakis and collared dress shirts to work regularly. Proof positive once again that life’s tragic
irony continues to ridicule me on a daily basis.
My daughter has
already started exhibiting some of those same signs of rebellion, oftentimes
butting heads with her mother over the clothes that she expects to wear. Verifying the validity of that “just wait
until you have kids” curse, we expect our daughter to wear cute bows and dresses
while she expects to dress like Hannah Montana. Yes, I’m already pricing titanium security
bars for her windows.
Unlike our daughter's
hard-headed demands though, our son’s personality and life perceptions have suddenly
surfaced in an unexpected and rather humorous scenario. One I expect to take full advantage of for
many, many years to come…
Coming home from an
evening of miniature golf with my two oldest, a song came on the XM radio. It was the bouncing tune “Luv Me Luv Me” by
everyone’s favorite garbled Jamaican lyricist of the 1990s, Shaggy. My daughter asked me to turn it up because she
liked the beat. As I did, I started bouncing
up and down in my seat and moving my arms to the rhythm. She immediately laughed and followed suit.
However, in a
separate, desperate plea coming from the backseat, my son immediately piped up
“Dad, stop it! You’re embarrassing me! Oh my gosh!”
Embarrassing? We
were on a dark country road in the middle of nowhere, just the three of us in
the car. Besides his sister, who is
happily giggling and bouncing right along with me, who exactly is there to be
embarrassed around? I guess his implied
public perception of his dad’s expected geriatric behavior has started to rear
its ugly, liver-spotted head.
So, I’m
embarrassing you say? Game on,
junior…
There are two types
of embarrassment in our house. There are
those choice flashes of brilliance where you feel compelled to take a bow after
a devastatingly awkward episode and state proudly “thank you, we will now
return you to your regularly scheduled programming.” Then, there are those instances where you
actually embarrass yourself in order to achieve a desired result. Much to our son’s dismay, the latter has
become standard operating procedure for the wife and I these days.
We have found that
our embarrassing behavior can actually be used to sway an advantage in
disciplining our darling children. Private setting? Public? No matter. It seems
that the boy is extremely motivated to caving on his preferences and demands,
once he sees his mom or dad start dancing. Those times where he starts to pout over not
getting his way? He gets my extremely
liberal version of Kid n’ Play’s Funky Charleston. Don’t want to do your
homework? An over-exaggerated Rump
Shaker from us. Complaints over the television shows that we
are watching? Well, now we're just
having to make stuff up…
Realistically, I
know it can't be a pretty sight. At my
age, it probably resembles more violent seizure or convulsion than actual dance
move. However, it has proven extremely effective
in helping to steer our son’s behavior in a desired direction. In fact, we've used this method so frequently
these days that I wouldn’t be shocked to see Don Cornelius himself come
strolling through the front door at any given moment.
“Love, peace, and
soul…”
Thinking back, I
don’t remember too many instances where my parents purposefully went out of
their way to embarrass me. Then again, maybe
it was just my mind’s way of hiding severe trauma. Although, I do recall that one season in my
early teens where we had three of our moms coaching our soccer team. Taking the field, we would always hear “play
nice and don’t get dirty” shouted from the sidelines. Unfortunately, that battle cry seemed to lead
to the exact opposite result.
On the flip side
though, I can remember a friend of mine who always insisted that his parents
drop us off at the back of the parking lot so that no one would see them. Movies.
School dances. The mall. In retrospect, I guess there was also that “coolness”
factor attached to arriving onto the scene from the darkness of the parking lot
without a chauffeuring mom or dad in sight. Emerging mysteriously like the two
guys from those “Twilight” movies…just without the ripped abs.
OK, so maybe your
standard zombie flick would have been a more realistic comparison. Pipe down already.
So this is the type
of thing that I get to look forward to in my future? Driving a quarter mile out of my way so that
my son’s friends don’t see the wily, old geezer carting him around in the
family minivan? Come on. I couldn't possibly be that
embarrassing. But then, of course,
there’s always that off-chance that an old song from my youth would come on the
XM radio while his friends are within earshot…
“Oh yeah! Rob Base! This was my jam!”
OK. So perhaps he might have a measureable point in that regard…
Obviously, I’m
going to save the real doozies for when he’s older though. That evening when he brings his prom date
back to the house for pictures and he finds his dad sitting on the couch,
watching old club footage of his days playing in a deafening, over-amplified
rock band. While he’s looking for that
hole to crawl into, I will rewind the part over-and-over again where I slide
across the stage on my knees while our bass player attempts to jump on my
shoulders.
On second thought, any
existing evidence of that video would be exponentially more embarrassing to me
than it could ever be to him.
“We will now return you to your regularly
scheduled programming.”
Mullets optional.
