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 →
EppsNet Archive: Parents
It Can’t Hurt That Much
I was telling my son about a woman in Arkansas who’s about to give birth to her 17th child. Her oldest is 19. “Doesn’t that hurt?” the boy asked. “I wouldn’t know,” I said, “but it can’t hurt that much if you’re willing to do it 17 times. It can’t hurt as much as, say, a kick in the groin, because after I took one kick in the groin, I wouldn’t sign up to take 16 more.” “The pain goes away, you know.” “Are you suggesting that I would be willing to take 17 kicks in the groin?” “Over a 19-year period, yeah.” “Agree to disagree.” Read more →
Fortune Cookies
Last weekend, we had dinner at a Chinese place with some of my in-laws. As usual, my son and I were left at one end of the table to entertain ourselves while the rest of the group chatted with each other in Thai. Near the end of the meal, the boy started reading through the fortune cookies and ad libbing the messages: “‘If you’re reading this, you’re most likely Asian, which means your mom will yell at you a lot.’ ‘This fortune cookie is stale. You’re not going to like it.’ ‘You will fulminate in 10 seconds.’” “Fulminate?!” I said. “It was one of my vocabulary words.” Read more →
Vox Clamantis in Deserto
As we’re driving home from a hockey tournament, my son and I see a car with a license plate frame that reads DARTMOUTH VOX CLAMANTIS IN DESERTO “Is that the kind of thing they teach you at Dartmouth?” he asks. “Apparently,” I say. “Doesn’t seem very useful.” “No, it doesn’t,” I have to admit. Read more →
Mrs. Bryant Throws the Gyroball
My son’s having some trouble with 8th grade Algebra. When I work with him on it, I can see that he knows the material and he can do the calculations . . . his biggest problem is a fatalistic, let’s-get-it-over-with, I’m-no-good-at-math attitude, which leads to careless errors, and frustration if his first approach to a problem doesn’t work. I encourage him to take a more positive attitude, to go into the next test saying positive things to himself, like “I know this material” and “I can handle these questions.” “But I don’t know it,” he says. “Mrs. Bryant [his math teacher] throws the gyroball every pitch! And sometimes she hits me with it!” What we have here is a classic self-fulfilling prophecy . . . Read more →
Not the Way Ward Cleaver Would Have Handled It
Ireland Baldwin is very lucky to have a dad like Alec Baldwin who can “straighten her ass out on issues” on a regular basis. He can even fly to wherever she is to straighten her out in person! It’s what he does! The rest of us only have Alec Baldwin to straighten us out on issues on an irregular, ad hoc basis. [UPDATE: A family law judge was so alarmed after hearing Baldwin’s phone message that she has barred him from having any contact with his child pending a May 4 hearing, so he will be limited to long-distance ass-straightening, er, parenting, at least temporarily.] Parents get what they deserve from their kids. It’s not easy to snuff out the natural affection that a child has for a parent, but if you perservere, you can do it! UPDATE: Alec Baldwin Calls Dora the Explorer Read more →
Always Thank Your Dad
My boy is researching a paper on Darwin’s theory of evolution. “How’s the research going?” I ask. “I discovered an error and had to start over,” he says. “You discovered an error in your paper or you discovered an error in Darwin’s theory?” “Well, Internet Explorer discovered an error and had to close.” “Because if you discovered an error in Darwin’s theory, there’s probably a Nobel Prize in it for you. Be sure to mention me in your acceptance speech.” “Shut up.” “[Imitating his voice] ‘I’d like to thank my dad, who always encouraged me to do my best.’” “Shut up.” Read more →
It Works!
Xkcd will sell you a T-shirt with this slogan on it. My son loves it. He thinks his 8th grade science teacher should get one. “That’s a great idea,” I say, “if he wants to get fired.” “He could just cross out BIZNATCHES and write KIDS instead,” he suggests. Read more →
Life Imitates Art
He said he heard about a couple living in the USA He said they traded in their baby for a Chevrolet — Elvis Costello, “Less Than Zero” PUEBLO — Three people were arrested on charges of swapping a 5-month-old boy for a downpayment on a used Dodge Intrepid and cash, police said Tuesday. — Vail Daily Read more →
I Think He Means Smart-Alecky in a Good Way
My son’s tennis teacher asks me where the boy gets his “smart-alecky” personality — from me or my wife? “Well,” I say, “if by ‘smart-alecky’ you mean ‘funny,’ he gets it from me. If you mean ‘argues for the sake of arguing,’ he gets that from his mom.” Read more →
Going to the Temple
My wife makes an occasional visit to one of the local Buddhist temples, and sometimes she “encourages” the rest of the family to join her. “Thanks for coming along,” she says on the drive over. “You made us come,” our son says from the back seat. Then after a pause, “But you’re welcome.” Read more →
Adventures in Driving
We’ve just had another of the near-death experiences so common when my wife gets behind the wheel of a car. “Driving with you is a real adventure, honey,” I say. “Not in a good way,” our son adds. She wears multiple combinations of glasses and contact lenses, but her standard explanation — “I can’t see!” — is not as reassuring as she seems to think it is. Read more →
What Hockey Players Are Supposed to Smell Like
My wife is commenting on the smell of our son’s hockey bag. “You need to air that out sometimes,” she tells him. “Hockey players aren’t supposed to smell like perfume,” he explains. “What are they supposed to smell like?” I ask him. “Sweat and toil,” he says. “Broken bones. And dried blood.” Read more →
Miscommunication
My son’s upstairs playing PawnGame as my wife yells up to him, “Didn’t I tell you 15 minutes ago to take a shower?” “Yes,” he yells back. “Didn’t you say ‘OK’?” “No, I said ‘hold on.’” “Oh . . . must be something wrong with my ears then.” Read more →
Mallet Men
My son’s junior high school has two bands, Symphonic Band and Concert Band. You could think of them as the varsity and the JV. Membership in the Symphonic Band is by audition only. Because the boy changed instruments from saxophone to percussion last summer, after the Symphonic Band auditions, he has to play in the Concert Band this year. I don’t think he’s happy about it, but he’s taking lessons and practicing and trying to get better. This week, we had All-City Honor Band tryouts. All five percussionists from the Symphonic Band tried out, and four of them made it. My son also tried out and made it — as first chair. He’s the best junior high percussionist in Irvine. Don’t give up on your dreams, kids! I too played percussion in junior high and high school, where I was known far and wide as the Fast-Hand Mallet Man. So… Read more →
What Would Andrew Jackson Say?
My son and I are sitting around the house when the phone rings. He looks at the caller ID, which says something about Recruiting. “It’s the U.S. Army,” he says. We don’t pick it up, and a female voice comes on to leave a message, which has nothing to do with the army. “A woman?!” he shouts. “What would Andrew Jackson say about that?” “Andrew Jackson?” “That’s right, soldier!” Read more →
The Next Best Thing to Being There
My wife is talking about the possibility of a Christmastime family trip to Thailand. She’s from Thailand, lived there through college, and still has relatives there. I’ve never been to Thailand — I hate to travel, for one thing — but our son has been over there with her on a few occasions. Here’s his reaction, punctuated with frantic screaming: “AHHHHH! It’s people who can’t speak English in 170-degree heat!” I don’t think this boy has a future as a travel agent. “They haven’t seen you in a long time,” my wife tells him. “Can’t we do a video conference?” 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 →
A Family Secret
“Don’t buy us anything expensive for Christmas this year,” my mom says on the phone. “Save your money.” I diplomatically omit the fact that every year as the Yuletide approaches, my wife starts rummaging through the closets for things she doesn’t want, then wraps them up and gives them to my parents as Christmas presents. Read more →
Black Father of the Year
NEWPORT BEACH — Two Los Angeles residents believed to be a father and a daughter were arrested early today near John Wayne Airport on suspicion of burglarizing four local businesses, authorities said. Donald Perkins, 48, and Kenesha Perkins, 28, were pulled over for speeding at about 3:15 a.m. near Dove Street and Newport Place Drive, said Sgt. Evan Sailor of the Newport Beach Police Department. — Orange County Register Kenesha Perkins is a lucky girl . . . most black fathers are not actively involved in their children’s activities like this . . . Read more →