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January 29, 2006

I've received a deluge of letters because of my "Preschool Of Rock" essay in today's New York Times Magazine, and by deluge, I mean one. The respondent, a dad, is about 15 years older than I am, and he wrote apologetically that he and his kids listened to The Beatles and The Who together when his kids were younger. There's nothing to apologize for. I didn't write the article because I think that other dads should share my lousy musical tastes. I'm no more trying to "teach" my kid about rock than I am trying to "teach" him about the first season of The Muppet Show. We're just having some fun. I like to play with my kid and I like to make mix CDs. This is a method of combining the two. Great dads have bad taste in music, and lousy dads have way better taste than me. The piece is really about having a good time with my kid, within a limited framework.

With that in mind, I took Elijah for a Big Wheel ride in the neighborhood yesterday. This is a good area for Big Wheels, because there are hills and also because the neighborhood is slightly neglected, which means that occasionally the sidewalks bulge unexpectedly. This makes for a challenging ride, and helps my kid with "problem solving." One problem I've been trying to solve is how to find playmates in the neighborhood for Elijah. The other day I was parking the car on the street. I met a woman with two kids. She was pulling into their driveway. Her boy looked to be about seven and the girl appeared to be about three. Perfect for Elijah. I introduced myself, and she told me to come over anytime.

On our Saturday cruise down the street, I noticed that their door was open, and that kids were playing inside. So I knocked on their door. A man answered, with the little girl peering out from behind his right side. Elijah gets very excited when he sees other kids, and he started jumping on their porch, shrieking excitedly. The man looked at him with worry. Apparently, he's not from a culture that raises its sons to be spazzy drama queens. I introduced myself.

"I was talking to your wife the other day."

"Why were you talking to my wife?" he said.

"About the kids. She said we should all come over and play sometime."

I looked down at the girl. She had paint on her nose.

"Someone's been painting."

"She likes painting," said her dad.

"I SEE YOU!" Elijah said.

"I see you back!" said the girl.

"We go to the park sometimes," the dad said.

I thought I saw a Bible in his left hand, but upon closer inspection, it was just a CD carrying case.

"I'm sorry you can't come in right now."

"Aww," Elijah said. "Aww shoot."

"Some other time then..."

And the door was closed. Regina later pointed out that some men don't like it when other guys talk to their wives. It hadn't occurred to me that would be a problem. Personally, I like it when men flirt with Regina, because it validates my choice.

Meanwhile, our neighborhood continues to be populated by a endlessly flowing stream of sketchy dogs. Today I took Elijah to Walgreens with a very hip shopping list: anti-dermitital shampoo, diapers, Krazy Glue, a four-watt lightbulb, and Wellbutrin. When I came home, Regina was sitting on the couch with Hercules. They were both shivering.

"We got chased by three dogs when I tried to walk him," she said.

"How come I never get chased by dogs?"

"Then there was a pit bull that looked like it was going to jump the fence. It wanted to eat us."

"You're exaggerating," I said. "Is the cat back yet?"

Gabby, my pet with the longest tenure, got out of the house a couple of weeks ago, and stayed out for three hours. Something happened to her out there--she either got reamed by a hot alley tom or found a secret cache of fish--and she wants more. This morning, she slipped away at 8 AM, and as the hours ticked by, we just assumed that she'd become pit bull dinner. We went to a barbecue in the mid-afternoon and came back after sundown. No Gabby. Regina started to tear.

"I feel terrible. We just left her to die."

"No we didn't," I said.

"She got mauled or eaten or hit by a car."

"Maybe it was her time."

"How can you be so cruel?"

As I write this, Gabby has been home for thirty minutes. She lost her collar but appears otherwise unharmed. Thirteen hours out there, she was. What did she do, go to the beach? Thus, I still live with two cats. One is 15 years old. He weighs 30 pounds, his body is covered in benign cysts, and he only pees outside the litter box. The other licks all the fur off her front legs whenever I go out of town and spend most of every night chewing on my ear. Very rock-n-roll.

Posted by at 9:10 PM | Permalink

Comments

I'm really digging your blog. I've been a stay-at-home dad for going on 4 years and enjoy reading how other dads deal with their kids, in both good times (rocking out) and bad (potty training). Luckily for me, my son, who's 3 1/2, doesn't care what music I play in the car, so I can still jam to anything from Queens of the Stone Age to Looper, the Flaming Lips to the Stooges. Looking forward to reading "Alternadad."

Posted by: Dave Brigham | January 30, 2006 8:34 AM

What do you think about this Devo 2.0 business? Jocko Elmo!

Posted by: Jim Treacher | January 30, 2006 12:59 PM

What popular indie rock band in Iowa? Having gone to school in Iowa, I'm just assuming I know them all.

Posted by: Alison | January 30, 2006 8:37 PM

We've always exposed 4-year-old Rita and 1-year-old Jake to a wide range of music, even wider now that we have an iPod with a speaker for listening to it in the kitchen and an adapter for listening to it in the car. Of course, having the whole collection on there requires a quick finger on the fast-forward when shuffling. "Houston" by Soul Coughing came on one evening, and I had forgotten the ending when I stepped out of the room for a minute. Came back to M. Doughty rhythmically intoning, "Roller boogie motherfucker roller boogie motherfucker roller boogie motherfucker...." In that clear, resonant diction of his, of course. Fortunately Rita wasn't paying attention, and I zipped to the next song without comment.

Posted by: John | January 31, 2006 2:54 PM

Can't tell you how pleased I was at the Brave Combo reference. Much to my wife's chagrin, you inspired a polka brunch at our place last Sunday. Do something different, indeed.

Posted by: Mike | February 1, 2006 12:08 PM

I read your deal in TNYT Magazine, and I'm super-glad you are doing this type of thing now. I'm scared to death of having kids. 2010 has been the date we use to shut up the parents.

Them: "So, when are you two thinking of having kids."
Us: "November 14, 2010."
Them: [silence].

It totally works. But now it's coming up faster than I thought. I mean, it's not like tomorrow or anything, but I've got to start thinking about it. Stuff like this helps. I think Alternadad is a good idea.

Now, have you got any stuff about dying grandparents, parents with cancer, losing hair, getting a gut, a black hole of credit card debt, etc.? Keep it coming.

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