My son asks how I’m voting on Proposition 8, so I tell him, “I’m not sure I really care that much one way or the other. The amazing thing to me is that same-sex couples actually want to get married. If I hadn’t been allowed to get married, I could have avoided a lot of problems. “On the other hand, if we get rid of the ‘one man, one woman’ requirement, I’m planning to turn the house into a polygamy compound with Lucy Liu and Scarlett Johanssen as my new wives. “Bad choices,” he says. “Who would you pick?” “Jessica Biel.” “Okay, we’ll get her too.” Read more →
EppsNet Archive: Fathers and Sons
At the Lakers Game
My son and I went to the Lakers game last night, a pre-season game against Utah . . . Pre-game As we were walking in, he pointed out an Asian girl with a spiky-haired Asian guy wearing an Olympics jersey and said, “That guy with the Olympic jersey pulled a hotter Asian woman than you.” The girl was hotter than my wife is now, but not hotter than she was at that age. “You don’t know anything,” I said. “Mom was pretty hot.” “Yeah. Right.” Game Pretty good game! The starters played more than I thought they would. Andrew Bynum is back. He looked good! Jerry Buss was there. He looked terrible. Thirty minutes before the game, a guy rolled him out in a wheelchair to the end of the court. It took him several minutes to hobble from there to his courtside seat. My son said he had a… Read more →
Homework Follies
My son just came downstairs for a visit . . . “‘What’s due tomorrow?’” he says in his Dopey Dad voice. Then back in his normal voice: “Math and Spanish. (Dopey Dad voice) ‘Are they done yet?’ (Normal voice) Spanish is done. I still have a little bit of math. (Dopey Dad voice) ‘Do you need me to check anything?’ (Normal voice) No.” Now he’s waiting for a reaction from me, which he’s not going to get. “I just did your job for you,” he says. “Thanks!” Read more →
To Kill a Mockingbird
I took my son to the bookstore to buy To Kill a Mockingbird for his English class. They had two paperback editions available — one with a fancy binding for $15.95 and another one for three dollars less. I pulled the cheaper one off the shelf and my son asked, “Why are we getting that one?” I said, “Because it’s three dollars less for the same book.” “I like the other cover better,” he said. “Gimme three dollars.” Read more →
Milestones
Today is my son’s 15th birthday. He’s six feet tall, same as me. I actually have to look up at him a little bit . . . his eyes are higher than mine but I make up the difference with an improbably large forehead, so the tops of our heads are at the same height . . . Read more →
Father-Son Wisdom
I tell my son, “If people see you as being arrogant or kind of an a-hole, it’s going to be hard for you to accomplish things that you want to accomplish in life.” “How did you accomplish anything?” the boy replies. “It was hard.” Read more →
It’s Not Easy Being Green
“If we shortened our showers by one minute, we’d save $100 a year,” my son informs me, pausing for a moment to let the news sink in. “And if we shortened our showers by two minutes, we’d save $200 a year. If we didn’t take showers at all, we could be rich! “As for the AC, we leave it off and everybody gets one of those personal fans and points it at their face.” “Why don’t we get the old-fashioned fold-out fans and wave them back and forth?” I ask. “Now that’s just stupid,” he says. Read more →
Hockey Practice
I was watching my son’s roller hockey practice last weekend . . . during a scrimmage, he skated the puck up the rink, faked the goalie to the right, then snapped a shot into the top left corner of the net. “Oh my gosh!” I yelled to anyone within earshot. “Just like I taught him!” A few minutes later, he got a pass in front of the net and one-timed it so high and hard that if not for the protective netting around the top of the rink, I don’t know where it would have come down. “I didn’t teach him that,” I said. Read more →
Breakfast at EppsNet
“The breakfast was overheated,” my son says to his mom. The boy is 14 years old. I say, “Thanks, Mr. Old-Enough-To-Fix-His-Own-Breakfast-But-Still-Lets-Others-Do-It-Then-Criticizes-Them.” “It was constructive criticism,” he says. Read more →
Wasted Years
My 14-year-old son informs me that he is not “wasting his years” the way I am . . . “Is that what I’m doing?” I ask. “‘Wasting my years’? How am I wasting my years? Taking care of you?” “My years are fully utilized and non-refundable,” he says. “You’re a schmo.” “Meanwhile, you’re wasting your years, calling people schmoes.” Read more →
I Have a Dream About Bananas
“Look at the color of this banana,” my son says as he takes it out of the refrigerator. “It’s black.” “I think it’s still okay,” I tell him. “It’s not the color of the skin that’s important . . .” ” . . . it’s the content of its character,” he jumps in. Read more →
You’re My Dad
Will you come to see me Jack When I’m old and very shaky? Yes I will for you’re my dad And you’ve lost your last old lady Though you traveled very far To the highlands and the badlands And ripped off the family car Still, old dad, I won’t forsake you. Will you come to see me Jack? Though I’m really not alone. Still I’d like to see my boy For we’re lonesome for our own. Yes I will for you’re my dad Though you dumped me and my brothers And you sizzled down the road Loving other fellows’ mothers. Will you come to see me Jack? Though I look like time boiled over. Growing old is not a lark. Yes I will for you’re my dad Though we never saw a nickel As we struggled up life’s ladder I will call you and together We will cuddle up and… Read more →
Tricks of the Trade
The Chevron Extra Mile store near us has a Meal Deal where you get a 32-ounce fountain drink and a Johnsonville Brat for $1.99. My son’s looking it over . . . he’d rather have a Smoky Cheddar Dog but that’s not the deal. So he plops a Smoky Cheddar Dog into a bun, completely smothers it in mustard and chili so you can’t tell what’s in there, takes it up to the register with his 32-ounce soda and says, “This is a Meal Deal, right?” “Yace,” says the Indian clerk. As we’re walking out of the store, he says to me, “Tricks of the trade.” Read more →
If the Shoe Fits
I hobbled into a job interview today like a man whose shoes were too small for his feet. No, wait, let me back up a little bit . . . I can never find anything around the house because people keep moving my stuff. Why everyone can’t keep their hands to themselves, I don’t know, but I don’t even try to keep track of things anymore. I just look for something in the last place I put it, and when it’s not there, I ask someone. “Don’t ask me. I didn’t touch it.” So I look some more and it always turns out that my camera is in my son’s room, or my keys are in my wife’s purse, or the important document is in the trash, and everyone still maintains that they have no idea how it got there. Living with people is a mixed blessing, I’ll tell you.… Read more →
How Much I Care
We’re having dinner at Chili’s, and long before the food arrives, my kid has already informed me that I should have ordered meat instead of a salad, and that he can’t believe how quickly I ordered a refill on my soda. “Are you going to micromanage the whole meal for me?” I ask. “I can’t see how it makes any difference to you what I order or how fast I drink my soda, but somehow it does.” “It shows how much I care,” he says. Read more →
Call Me Kreskin
I preface some obvious remark to my son by saying “Call me Kreskin, but . . .” He jumps in and says, “OK, you’re crazy.” “I didn’t say ‘Call me crazy,’ I said ‘Call me Kreskin.” “You’re a kreskin.” “Kreskin,” I explain, “is a mind-reading guy. He makes predictions about things.” “Oh . . . then, you’re crazy.” Read more →
Homework Follies
“This is racist,” my son says. I look over to see what he’s talking about. He’s sitting on the sofa doing math homework. “What’s racist?” I ask. “The math book?” “Yeah. They have answers in the back for problem 9 and problem 13, but not problem 11. Because I’m a Mexican.” “You’re a Mexican?!” “I’m a mixed kid,” he corrects me. His mom is Asian. “You think the white kids’ book has the answer to number 11?” “Yup. The Asian kids’ book has got all the answers.” “Dude, check this out. Jackson collected s seashells. Petra and Tyrone collected 13 less than twice s. Now here’s the stupid part: I have to figure out how many seashells each person collected! COME ON! And the racist book doesn’t have the answers!” I say, “Jackson’s pretty lame if a girl collected more than he did.” “He’s pathetic!” Read more →
Homework Follies
My son asks for help with a homework problem in math. The main point of contention with math homework is that when he asks for help, he’d like me to just do the problem for him, while I prefer to try and steer his thinking in the right direction, even though it takes a lot longer. “This is like the problem you helped me with last night,” he says. “Let’s try not to have a one-hour conversation about it this time.” Read more →
The World of Make-Believe
I take my cell phone out of my pocket and notice that the battery’s gone dead. “Way to plan ahead,” my son says, without looking up from his GameBoy. Read more →
A Day at the Art Museum with a 7th Grader
I took my son to the new Landscape Confection exhibit at the Orange County Museum of Art today. I don’t know much about art, but I do have a couple rules of thumb: Read more →