Posts tagged ‘number one son’

And a Happy Birthday!

20 June, 2017 | | No Comment

It’s June again, and that means birthdays at the BUMD house!  There are more than I can count now; I can’t remember them all.  There have been amazing things this month, anniversaries, graduations, and birthdays galore!  Number One Son, who turns an unlikely 17 today – I think he’s as surprised as the rest of us – is hitting his stride. This was a quiet evening with a quiet cake; he cheerfully let us put 17 candles and one candle to grow by on the cake, and just as cheerfully blew them all out as we started singing.

Screw the Song! On with the cake!

So Happy Birthday, Big Man – you made it another year!

The Perils of Panopticonalism, and Why I Don’t Have It

11 June, 2016 | | 1 Comment

They all start like simple, innocent days, uncomplicated, routine.   And then BAM – your 13-yr-old is discussing her sexuality in the kitchen while you’re cooking, and you have to use your brain.  Parenting:  The most interesting roller coaster you’ll never get off of.  It’s not just the unexpected plunges, drops, and loops that really get you, either – it’s the sarcasm.

As evidence of this point, I present a conversation that took place the other day among The Reigning Queen of Pink, Number One Son, and myself.  It should be noted that at 13 years old, the RQOP does not so much question her sexuality as interrogate it.  I wouldn’t put her past waterboarding.  (It should also be noted that the below is transcribed with her express permission.)

RQOP:  “In gym today I was talking to my friend E_, who really goes by L_ but I already know someone called L_ so I call her E_, and we were all talking about our sexuality and I mentioned that I was probably bisexual but hadn’t really decided yet and E_ is bisexual and she told me that she wished that someone had told her this when she was thinking about her own sexuality and so she would tell me that if I ever wanted someone to talk to about it, I could talk to her, and I thought that was very nice of her so I gave her a hug.”

(Note:  E_ is *also* 13 years old.)

BUMD:  “That’s very nice of her, and it’s great that you can talk about these things with your friends.  While I think you know that you can also always talk about anything like that to me and Mom….”

RQOP, interrupting:  “Oh yes of course, that’s the best thing about you guys is that you don’t care about anything!”

(Note:  It’s possible that this side effect of our admittedly liberal and somewhat laissez faire parenting style was not exactly the impression we were aiming for.)

BUMD:  “Well, it’s not so much that we don’t care, as that however you grow up won’t affect how we love you or treat you or anything like that.”

RQOP:  “Yes, I know that’s what I meant – you don’t care about THAT.”

BUMD:  “Right.  OK, but what I wanted to say is that it while you can always talk to me about that kind of thing, it’s possible that I might lack the some of the perspective your friend might have.  I know it’s hard to believe, but I actually haven’t ever been a Bisexual Teen-aged Woman.  So it’s nice that you might have someone like E_ with whom you can talk things out, or … ”

RQOP, to Number One Son who was standing near:  “HOLY SHIT!  Did you hear that?  Dad just admitted he’s not omniscient!”

NOS:  “Holy shit.  Need to write this down.”

Now as every parent knows, The Assumption of Parental Omniscience (TAPO)™  is as important to successfully parenting kids over the course of 20 or 30 or 80 years as The Assumption of Papal Infallibility is to successfully managing a church for 2000ish years.  I certainly wasn’t going to let go of my TAPO™ without a fight.  The church didn’t forgive Galileo Galilei for thinking outside the box for close to 400 years; I figured there was historical precedent.  Besides, it’s an election year.

BUMD, in my best Richard Nixon voice:  “I said no such thing, I made no such admission!  My omniscience is not to be questioned.  What I lack is a certain perspective.  Being omniscient, I know everything, but I may not always perceive every point of view.  I lack onmi-perspective-ed-ness-ish.  I lack omniperispactity.  I lack…  I lack a word for what I’m saying.  What the hell word means that?”

NOS:  “Omniperspectieieieie….   Yeah.”

RQOP:  “Omperspec…  Yeah.”

We eventually settled on Panopticonalism, which is certainly close enough even if it doesn’t have that omniwonderful prefix that 266 popes and I have found so useful.  Having distracted the children down my lexicographical rabbit hole, I was able to exit the conversation with my TAPO™ intact.  Dinner was served, and my roller coaster flattened back out onto one of the smoother sides of the track for a while.

Perspective, perschmective.  At least I still have my TAPO!™

 

 

 

 

A Definition of Friendship

19 July, 2014 | | 3 Comments

It took 14 years.  We really didn’t think it would happen.

Number One Son is downstairs, playing video games with his friend, who slept over last night.

When was the first time you had a friend come over and play?  Just swing by, hang out for a few hours?  You were, what?  Five years old?  Maybe you were all of 8 or 9.  I think I was 8, honestly, but I could be off by a bit – I don’t remember the 70’s well, for obvious reasons.  But Number One Son has never had a friend come over to play with him – ever.  Not one.  This past Wednesday, he mentioned to SOBUMD that he was going to step outside for a few minutes.  “OK,” said she, “just come in before it rains.”

This was unusual in and of itself – he doesn’t going outside much, willingly at least.  “Dad, I went outside *last* week – sure, the graphics are amazing, but the gameplay sucks.”  So SOBUMD wasn’t surprised when he came back in 3 minutes later.  She *was* surprised, though, when she heard more voices.  She went to check.

“Hi, I’m Owen,” said the boy we’ll call Owen.  “Number One Son has stayed in touch with me over the summer.”

“Nice to meet you!”  We’d heard about Owen from school; they were friends.  This is the first time Number One Son has ever stayed in touch with anyone.  We just didn’t know he lived in our neighborhood.  “Do your parents know you’re here, or are they out frantically looking for you?”

“Oh, no, they know exactly where I am – after all, Dad dropped me off.”

Whoa.  It turns out, Number One Son had organized this whole thing – he just left out the bit where he told us about it.  The boys communicate for hours, it turns out, over their headsets on the servers that they’re logging into for gaming.  So, fast forward 2 days, and suddenly we’re hosting a sleepover.

Number One Son and I just drove Owen home, pizza, Coke, and a good time having been had by all.  On the way home, I got this question:  “So Dad, is this what friendship is like?  A loss of interest and enjoyment in the things that you used to enjoy, unless your friend is with you?”

I said yes.  The more I thought about it, I told him that that might be one of the best definitions of friendship I’d ever heard.  It took him 14 years, but I’m very glad he’s finally found friends who really get him.  There’s hope for us all!

Take Me Where?

8 July, 2014 | | 2 Comments

Hey, yes, I know, it’s been forever.  Or at least, far too long.  As always, time gets away from me, and things get complicated.  In any event, this was worth sharing.

You might not be surprised to hear this, but I’m the kind of guy who walks around singing a lot.  This is somewhat unfortunate, considering my singing voice, but still.  Considering my advanced age, it probably won’t surprise you that many of the songs that I walk around singing are, shall we say, less than current.   Yesterday, while getting out the door to go shopping for cat food, Coke, and a 16-foot long 2×12 (you should see our dinners), I found myself singing Eddie Money’s “Take Me Home Tonight,” which I must have heard on the radio recently, since I seem to remember some of the words.

“I can feel your heart beat faster / Take me home tonight / I don’t want to let you go ’til we see the light / Take me home tonight…”

Whereupon Number One Son, in all his 14-yr-old glory, looks at me and interjects, “Well, OK, but you could at least buy me dinner first.”

 Fourteen years old and he’s still making me say, “Huh?”

I leave you with Eddie, Ronnie, and the ’80s. But please, buy her dinner first.

 

 

 

I’m not out of touch…

19 April, 2014 | | 3 Comments

I’m just 30 years out of sync.

Number One Son has been asking me to walk to the local park with him for a few days, and this morning seemed like a good time.  I brought my coffee, he brought an apple, and we got there in record time.  This works well for a morning activity, since he gets to swing as long and as high as he likes, and I get to sit quietly and watch him and the birds while I have my coffee – it’s almost like having a deck, except 3 blocks away.

Anyway, after building up a good head of steam swinging, he decided he was done with that, and came over to my bench with his phone.  “Here, you have to listen to this.  Do you know Radioactive?”

“Yes,” said I, “I know the song Radioactive.”

“Cool.”  And he played a parody of the song, set in the Portal videogame world, something about being a non-defective turret.  Or being a defective turret.  Or something.  He kept watching my face for a reaction.

“Sound familiar?”

“No.”

“Getting anything?”

“Really, no.  I’m not familiar with this.”

Big sigh.  “Daaaaad, that’s why I *asked* you if you knew the song Radioactive!”

“Son, I do know the song Radioactive.  It’s just a different song.”  Since we’re both walking around with phones, I whipped out mine to play it for him – and realized as soon as I searched for it that he’s thinking about a band called Imagine Dragons, while Dinosaur Dad is stuck in 1985 looking for The Firm.  If you’re a little more recently plugged in than I am, you probably already know it’s not a remake.

I played him mine:  “Got to concentrate / Don’t be distractive / Turn me loose tonight / ‘Cause I’m radioactive.”

He played me his:  “I’m waking up, I feel it in my bones / Enough to make my systems blow / Welcome to the new age, to the new age / Welcome to the new age, to the new age / Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I’m radioactive, radioactive.”

Welcome to the new age, indeed.  Not my thing, maybe, but not bad.  Number One Son conceded that 1985 might have rocked as well.  We leave the final analysis to you!

The Old…

 

And the New!