MetroDad

The Smell of Fear

Living in Manhattan during this post-Apocalyptic era is often a testimony to the enduring fortitude of my fellow denizens. Sure, in the past, we've had to deal with the appalling paucity of affordable housing, the absence of quality public education, and a cost-of-living index so high that restaurants can actually charge $99 for a fucking hamburger.

But, in the wake of 9/11 and the London bombings, living here seems to be taking a greater toll. Imagine living in a place where ones civil liberties can be dismissed in the name of safety. Imagine living in a city where millions of lives are disrupted on a daily basis by ever-changing threat levels. But most importantly, can you imagine living someplace where fear still inhabits the hearts of even the strongest among us?

Don't get me wrong. I love this city. And it's going to take a lot more to get me to leave. I'm only bringing this up now because of events that transpired during my commute home last night. Normally, my commute on the subway takes about 10 minutes door-to-door. But last night, as the train was about 500 yards from the platform, we lurchingly ground to a halt. This is not an irregular occurence in NY so most people didn't even flinch. But after about 10 minutes, the conductor announced that police and emergency personnel were shutting down the station so they could examine the tracks. He didn't know when we'd be able to get moving again and cautioned everyone to stay calm. After another 20 minutes, you could feel the tension in the subway car slowly building. It was eerily silent. Since the A/C was cut off, people were taking off their jackets and rolling up their shirt collars. Was this a terrorist attack? Had there been a bomb scare? You could almost smell the fear in the car.

But me? I couldn't smell the fear. All I could smell was the fucking body odor from the five people standing next to me. The guy directly in front of me smelled like he'd been digging latrines all day. The guy by my side smelled like he'd been rubbing his face with dirty socks. The young Wall Street intern had cleary thought he was supposed to pour the WHOLE bottle of Paco Rabonne on his neck. The lady stepping on my toes decided to eat her 2-day old Big Mac. And I think the nanny in front of me was carrying some used cloth diapers filled with Indian food.

Now, don't get me wrong. I know bad smells. I've walked along the world's most polluted rivers in Bangladesh. I've been elbow-to-elbow with thousands of people on the streets of Karachi during Ramadan. And I've been to factory towns in China where toxic yellow clouds come billowing out of smokestacks. But for some reason, last night was tough for me.

The great Prussian military theorist Carl Von Clausewitz once said that war is the admixture of politics by other means. Well, let me amend that to say that the NYC subway is the admixture of smells by many means. I think it was the combination of all those smells that caused such cosmic dissonance and proved, once again, that the sum is often greater than the whole.

So, to all you terrorists out there trying to put fear in my soul? I offer you my middle finger! Suck it, bitches! Not now nor ever will you cause me to wallow in terror!

But all you smelly mofos on the subway? You win. I'm walking for the next few weeks.

What a cute dog you have!

Before the Peanut was born, I sat up here very haughtily on my high horse and silently castigated the parents that I would see on the streets.  From my golden perch made of moral rectitude, I would point out all their many flaws and declare them as examples of the kind of parent that I would never become.  Silently, I would witness their behavior and cast judgment on their erroneous actions.

I think you know I'm kidding.  I think you also know that I'm hardly one to be judgmental.  I've always thought people were better off minding their own business.  Unfortunately, it's sad how rarely this occurs.  Especially when it comes to parenting, I've always believed that there are many "correct" ways to raise a child.  And if we're to believe that our children will become the sum total of their experiences, than I tend to also think we're not going to fuck them up too bad with our individual and multi-varied approaches.   

But I will admit that one thing that always got me semi-riled up was seeing kids with leashes on them.  Now don't get me wrong.  You want to put handcuffs on your girlfriend or a dog collar on your husband, you go right ahead.  This is America, people.  Land of the free and home of the brave.  But leashes on kids?  Man, I always thought that was unduly obdurate behavior.  The entire concept just seems so Abu Ghraib-ish.

Don't get me wrong. I can see the chain of events and dialectic reasoning that could lead one to believe that it's perfectly logical and acceptable to leash ones kid.  You see, my little 9-month old daughter, the Peanut, has proved to be an amazingly fast crawler.  Extraordinary, considering the fact that she just learned how to crawl a few weeks ago.  Now?  Not only can she crawl but she can stand herself up and, with the help of furniture, can walk around the living room.  We're only slightly exaggerating when we say that we're terrified that she's going to be able to walk by herself within the next few weeks. But my point is that, right now, she's like a little kitten on steroids.  Turn your back for a second...and she's gone!  The adjustment has been tough for me and the BossLady. 

A few days ago, the Peanut was by my side as I was washing some of her bottles in the sink.  I look up a second later, only to see her putting dog food in her mouth and splashing the water from our dog's water bowl. 

Yesterday, I put her on the floor to go get her bib.  I think I turned my back on her for literally 10 seconds.  Next thing I know, she's crawled about 20 feet over to the living room and pulled down a stack of DVDs. 

So yeah.  On the one hand, I could probably child-proof my entire existence.  Or, on the other hand, I could just put a leash on her.  But I'm afraid that this type of reasoning could lead too far.  What's next?  Crate-training?  Electronic collars?  Halters?  Exercise pens?  Muzzles?  Choker chains?

We live in a dangerous world, my friends.  Kids run into traffic, get abducted or fall down wells every day.  So I understand and empathize with any parent's concerns in regard to his/her child's safety.  If anything, ensuring our child's safety and well-being should be any parent's paramount concern.  But, in MY opinion, leashing my kid just doesn't feel right.  It feels cruel and barbaric.  And I don't like the implications of it.  So for now, if I need to employ extreme diligence and concentration in order to keep a constant eye on my daughter, that's what I'm going to do.

But, having been a father for only 9 months, I have yet to experience the stress of chasing after a 4-year old Tasmanian devil.  So who knows?  In a few years, it wouldn't be beyond the realm of my imagination to see me at Prada, inquiring whether they make child leashes in black suede.  As always, when it comes to parenting, I reserve the right to change my mind at any given moment.

But I'm curious, internet.  What do you think?  Am I being naive in thinking that leashing a kid is somewhat bizarre behavior?  Will I change my mind in a few years?  Do you leash your kids?  How do the kids feel about them?  Does the dog get confused?  Let's hear it, folks.  We haven't had a good old-fashioned, hash-it-out melee since that whole spanking debate.  Let's bring it on.

'Fess up!

When the BossLady and I started dating, we got into a ridiculous debate about something or other. As usual, neither one of us was willing to yield. And so in the heat of the argument, I casually mentioned how much smarter I was than her. To her credit, the BossLady turned to me and said, "Oh yeah, wiseguy? What'd you get on your SATs?" Immediately, my devious mind started thinking that she wouldn't pull that particular question out of the hat unless she had scored really well. And even though I did fairly well on my SATs, I figured that I'd have to do a little grade inflation in order to retain some credibiliy in the current debate. So I blabbered back "1400." Unfortunately, the plan backfired due to the fact that my lovely wife actually scored 1450 on her SATs. Ever since then, whenever we've gotten into an argument, she'll just look me in the eye and say, "1450." Pretty much shuts me up every time.

Last week, in an e-mail that I sent to someone else but c.c.'ed the BossLady on, I wrote that I scored a 1340 on my SATs. I'd lost track of my own little white lie and I got completely busted. It's just one more reason that I don't lie. My memory's not good enough to keep track of anything, much less imaginary stories. Much better to always go with the truth.

Anyway, the experience got me thinking. Not about lying to one's spouse (which I'm obviously adamantly against). But it got me thinking about things that our spouses might not know about us. I'm not talking about the deep, dark secrets of one's past. I'm talking about the little private parts of the world that you carve out for yourself and that nobody else knows about. It could be things that you do when nobody else is looking. Or things you think about that nobody else knows. It could be anything!

So that being said, I've decided that, in the interests of full disclosure, I'm going to reveal a few secrets that I've been keeping from the BossLady (up until now). So here you go, honey. Here are a few things about me that you might not have known...

-The other day, the Peanut farted on my hand while I was holding her. So I put her hand near my butt and farted back on her. We both thought it was pretty funny and had a good laugh together. For some reason, I didn't think you'd find it as funny as we did.

-Many moons ago (back in the pre-child days), I got high with our dog. That's right, honey. I'm not proud of admitting this but I actually smoked pot with our dog. We both got the munchies, ate a whole bag of peanuts together and watched a baseball game. Remember, honey? You walked him the next morning and his poop looked like a giant Babe Ruth bar.

-I've always had a little thing for Kate Winslet, Zhang Ziyi, Diane Sawyer, Michelle Yeoh, and Uma Thurman. I don't feel bad about this because your obsession with Colin Firth far outweighs any of my secret crushes. Seriously, honey. Do we really need to watch the 5-hour BBC version of "Pride and Prejudice" every six months? Mistahhh Daahhhcy!

-As you know, I'm a morning pooper. As you also know, the Peanut is a non-stop crawling machine who needs to be watched on a constant basis. Sometimes when it's my turn to get her in the morning, these two aforementioned facts have collided. To make a long story short, there have been more than a few occasions where I've sat her on my lap while I'm "dropping the kids off at the pool."

-Since you tend to fall asleep several hours before me every night, I often stay up late to read, do some work or write an entry for the blog. But most of the time? I pour myself a glass of scotch and watch ESPN's Sportscenter. This you knew about me. What you didn't know? Sometimes before I go to bed, I set the channel to CNN so when you wake up in the morning and turn the TV on to check the weather, it looks like I stayed up late watching Lou Dobbs. This way I hope you don't think I'm as much of a sports nut as I actually am.

-I know we already have 5 digital cameras, 4 ipods, and a video camera. Don't kill me, honey. But I bought another new gadget. It's being shipped now and we'll get it next week. I know. I have a problem. But it could be worse! I could be spending our retirement money on crystal meth, hookers and gambling, right? Look at the bright side!

So that's all I can think of for now, honey. I'm sure my phone will be ringing as soon as you read this post. But really, I think my little secrets are pretty innocuos, don't you? Fairly harmless. I don't have a secret life. That's not to say that I'm an angel. It's just that you already know the true depths of my depravity. And you still love me for it. But secrets? Not much. This is pretty much the sum of all my secrets. What about you? Anything you want to get off your chest? We'll speak later.

As for the rest of you? Talk to me, people. Spill it. If not here, then where? An inquiring mind wants to know. What doesn't your spouse know about you? C'mon and confess. You'll feel better. If your spouse reads this blog, post anonymously. But really, what are the things (major or minor) that your spouse doesn't know about you? The time you posed nude in college for beer money? The time you went skinny dipping with the drummer from Kajigoogoo back in '82? Your secret fetish of wearing women's panties? Doesn't have to be anything sordid, scandalous or depraved. Just come clean.

Because here at MetroDad, absolution is available 24 hours/day. Except on Sundays. So 'fess up!

The Itch

I stole this from CityMama. It's a cool tool that lets you map out all the countries that you've visited in your lifetime. Here's my map:

create your own visited country map

Seeing all my travels mapped out like this, I even somewhat surprised myself. I knew that I'd been to a lot of places but I'd never really counted them up before. Totalling them up now, it's hard to believe that I've visited 38 countries! Not too bad. But the amazing thing is that there's still so much more of the world that I want to see. I feel like I've only scratched the surface.

As I've mentioned before, I've always had a pretty bad travel bug. It's something I inherited from my mother and it's certainly something that I want to pass down to the Peanut. There are few things that I enjoy more than travelling overseas. Now, don't get me wrong. I love America. I love everything this country stands for. I love our individualistic spirit and I love watching the tumultuous clash of democracy in action. And every time I leave the country on my travels, I come back loving America even more. My only gripe is that we're a very insular country. Though much of this has to do with our geographical isolation, I find that most Americans are reluctant to travel abroad. They're used to a life of 1st-world luxury and shun places that may not offer the creature comforts of home, thus depriving themselves of really seeing how the vast majority of our fellow citizens on the planet live.

My own father is a classic example. Like I've mentioned before, it's my mom who has the travel bug. Before she retired, she was a schoolteacher for many years and therefore always had her summers off. So, every summer, she'd take off on one incredible journey after another...hiking Mt. Fuji in Japan, sailing in the Ukraine, or going on safari in Mozambique. After one fantastic trip to Russia, she wanted to return and decided to take my father with her. They spent two weeks there. They visited Red Square, the Bolshoi, St. Petersburg, and the Volga. They saw everything. I was so excited for them that when they returned, I remember asking my father how the trip was. His answer? "The food was terrible and the toilet paper was like cardboard." (Sadly enough, it was neither the first nor the last time that I would question whether he truly was my biological father.)

Anyway, I've always been a firm believer that familiarity doesn't breed contempt. In my opinion, it more than likely breeds understanding. Do you know why you see fewer racial tensions in Queens than you do in West Texas? It's because in Queens, you have immigrants from 10 different countries all living in the same brownstone apartment building. You buy your groceries from the Dominican family down the street, wash your clothes at the Korean laundromat, get your car serviced at the Indian-owned garage, and eat lunch every day at the same Greek diner. Your local neighborhood cop is Irish. Your child's best friend is from the Sudan. And your best friend in the building is from Croatia. Sure, everyone's different. But you know what? For the most part, they share more similarities than differences. You just have to learn to respect everyone's differences. Trust me. It makes the world a much more interesting place.

This is the same attitude that I have about travel. I think it crystallized for me back in 1995 when I went to visit Pakistan for the first time. Back then, the only thing I knew about Pakistanis was that they were a bunch of fanatical Islamic Jihadists, intent on never resting until America had been brought to its knees. I was quickly proven wrong. Just like here in the U.S., the extremists who yell the loudest get the most attention. The moderates get drowned out by the din. Anyway, I made some great friends in Pakistan. Sure, they were Muslim. But the vast majority of Muslims are truly peaceful people. And you know what? They weren't defined by their allegiance to Islam. The similarities to me and everyone I knew were revealing. Their biggest concerns were the safety of their families, the education of their children, the price of food in the local market, and the incompetence of the federal government. They cared less about tensions in the Middle East than they did about Uncle Sohail's drinking. They hated the extreme fundamentalists who were giving their country a bad name. They loved Baywatch, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Diet Cokes. And more than anything else in the world? They wanted a reliable health care system. Hmm...not so different after all, eh?

I don't know what point I'm trying to get across here. I'm still at jury duty and I think the 2 Vente Iced Coffees are numbing my cerebral cortex. But I'm just saying that the next time you're thinking about packing up the family and spending a small fortune at Universal Studios or going down to Mexico to sit on a beach for two weeks? Instead, think about travelling overseas. A gondola ride in Venice will probably be a lot more memorable for your child than a ride at Magic Mountain. Take the kids to Ireland so they can see where Grandma Callahan grew up. Or maybe drive up to Old Montreal so the kids can see buildings that date all the way back to the early 1600's.

From what I've learned and been told by other parents, most of these trips are a lot cheaper than going to Disneyland or Busch Gardens. Sure, they might be a little more difficult. But hey...nobody said experiencing life to the fullest was easy.

Brothers in Arms

Happy Father's Day to all my parenting brethren!!!

This being my first Father's Day, I'm understandably experiencing a slight case of sappiness. For those of you who came here expecting some of my occasional snarkiness, I'm afraid that I'm going to disappoint today. You see, on Friday, the awesome women at Peanut's daycare gave me a card when I came to pick up my lovely 8-month old daughter after work. They had fingerpainted my daughter's handprints all over a large piece of paper. On the top of the card, they wrote "Happy Father's Day." But on the bottom, they had written "These little hands hold all the love in the world for you." Oh man, I know my little baby didn't write out the card but I was so touched that I swear my eyes practically welled with tears. (I know, fatherhood has really fucking softened me up. But you knew this about me already, remember?)

So like I was saying, this is my first Father's Day. And whereas in the past, the day was merely a reason for me to buy my pops a steak dinner and give him a new putter or golf shirt, things are completely different today. Because although it may be selfish, today is the day that I celebrate how much I absolutely love being a father. I always thought that I would love having a kid and I've always loved being around children. But now, it's different. Fatherhood has changed me. I never realized that I had the capacity to love someone in the way that I love my daughter. I never knew that, in one singular moment, my entire life's priorities could change so quickly. I never imagined that being a father would become, by far, the most important aspect of my life. I never realized the amount of joy that I would get from one child's smile.

But most importantly, I'm proud of the fact that I think I'm turning into the father that I've always wanted to be. As regular readers of this blog know, I've always had a somewhat rocky relationship with my own father. There's a cultural/generational/personality gap that's made it tough to have the kind of relationship that I'd always hoped we'd have. After years of tumult, we've finally learned to coexist in a somewhat copacetic manner. But as my shrink says, the greatest fathers are usually those that had bad role models. Well, I hope so. Because I expect greater things out of my relationship with my daughter. And I know it all starts with me. I don't take fatherhood lightly. I think about it quite a bit. I read about it a lot. And I question myself at every step of the journey. Aside from being quite introspective about it, I'm always actively seeking out other people's advice. That's part of the reason for this blog. I like throwing out topics that are on my mind and getting some feedback from various perspectives.

Anyway...they say that "men who change diapers change the world." And while I'm pretty sure that a woman came up with that phrase, I do think there's a modicum of truth in it. Personally, I think it's a pretty interesting time to be a father now. I really dig the idea that we're more involved with our kids than previous generations of fathers seemed to have been. It's not always easy but, like they say, few things in life that are worth having come easy.

So to all my fellow dads out there? This Bud's for you. Enjoy the cheesy ties and giant bottles of cologne. Revel in the fingerpaint drawings, the homemade ashtrays and the handmade pencil holders. And while you may hear it from your kids. You may even hear it from your wives. Let me be the first guy to say to you...

Happy Father's Day! (Pretty fucking cool, isn't it?)

The Evolution of Friends

"I never had better friends than the friends I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?" -Stand By Me

I'm only slightly exaggerating when I say that I haven't made many new friends over the past 24 years. Sure, some of my closest friends are people that I met during college. And, despite being temporarily blinded by vodka and hormones in my 20's (when I was young, single and living in New York), I managed to form some very close relationships with people that I still cherish today.  But, for the most part, a lot of the people that I still see regularly are the friends that I made when I was 12 years old. I'm not sure why that is but it got me thinking about a good friend is.  Here's the short list.

A friend is someone with whom I can go to a restaurant and spend the entire meal on the cell phone talking to my wife. 

A friend is someone who can come over to my apartment while the wife and baby are gone, watch 6 hours of football with me, eat two meals together, and then get up and leave without uttering a single word.   

A friend is someone who knows everything about you and likes you anyway, who knows you're suffering even when you're fooling everyone else, and will always volunteer to drive you around in a white Bronco while 200 police cars follow you down the Interstate.   

A friend is someone who will bail you out of jail at any time of day, will never pass judgment on you, will ignore your psychotic mood swings, will never lie to you, will lend you $1,000 in Vegas at 4:00 in the morning without even thinking about it and will actually tell you when you're starting to lose your hair or gain weight.   

But most of all, a friend is someone whom you can laugh with.  As Dennis Miller once said, "a friend is someone who can make you laugh so hard that milk actually comes out your nose...even though you haven't had any milk in over two years."   

Anyway...why am I bringing all this up?  Because an older friend of mine in his late 40's recently told me that ALL of his and his wife's friends are people that they met through their kids.  The kids become friends at school.  Then, over the years, the parents ended up becoming friends.  Sounds weird but I can imagine how this would play out.  All those long days spent watching Little League games, ballet recitals and soccer games.  Then, you have the school plays, the annual fundraisers, and the bake sales.  The wives chit chat during Parents night and end up hitting it off.  One mother says how they should all get together one weekend.  You keep making excuses but eventually you run out of them. Next thing you know, you've let your wife talk you into spending a Sunday with a bunch of strangers. Before you know it, you're sharing burgers at a barbecue with a guy named Phil who works in advertising, wears a nautical blue blazer, drinks low-carb Aspen Edge beer, and has clearly had a lot of Botox done on his face.  He introduces you to his "main hombre, Jim," a Wall Street guy with an overly strong handshake who seems to think that his wealth can overcompensate for the fact that he's short, loud, and obnoxious.  You, on the other hand, decide to leave your sunglasses on, drink multiple vodkas, and contemplate how pissed the wife would be if you executed an immediate exit strategy and left the party with some fake food poisoning.  Aaarrgh! 

Just thinking about these potential future scenarios makes me ill.  Of course, I'll do ANYTHING in the world for my precious daughter.  But make new friends?  Shit, do I have to?  I've barely got enough time for the friends that I have now.  Besides, is having children of the same age really enough to form the basis of a friendship?  It's got to be harder than that, doesn't it?  But I see it happening already with a few buddies of mine.  All of sudden, one of them will mention how they "spent the weekend with Jeff and Susan."  When I remind my friend that I've known him for 20 years and I've never heard him mention Jeff or Susan so there's really no need for him to start making up imaginary friends now, he'll just casually say, "oh yeah.  The wife met them in Mommy & Me."  What the fuck?   I thought we had a non-verbal pact here that none of us could make new friends.  Sure, we could have a bunch of casual acquaintances with people that we meet and really like.  We could even make plans to go out to dinner with them every once in awhile.  But a whole weekend away together?  I'm sorry.  But you really should have asked my permission before you went away with Jeff and Susan.

I don't know what my problem is with this.  Really, I don't.  I'm not an anti-social guy at all.  Maybe it's because I realize that I have a slightly sarcastic and cynical sense of humor that people don't really "get" until they've known me for awhile?  Maybe I just don't like having new friendships thrust upon me?  Maybe because I'm too judgmental with people that I meet for the first time?  I'm not sure what my problem is regarding the possibility of making new friends via my daughter.   

One solution that I've had lately is to try and convince all my closest friends to have children at the same time so we can just continue to hang out together.  Then, our children will all be friends and I won't feel forced to hang out with new people.  So far, this plan is working out surprisingly well.  It helps that there seems to be some unspoken NYC charter law that dictates people must wait until the age of 35 prior to having children.  So now, all my friends are having kids in droves.  But I've got to admit that, in the back of mind, I still have this fear that I'm just delaying the inevitable and, at some point, I'm going to have to make new friends because of the Peanut. Egads! 

Is it me, Internet?  Am I nuts?  Will I really have no choice in the matter?  What happens if you don't like the parents of your child's best friend?  Will I be socially ostracized?  Or worse, will my daughter?  What are the ramifications of calling another parent an asshat?  Would it be worse to pretend that I'm deaf and dumb?  Are their social cliques in parenting circles?  Do the "cool parents" all hang out together?  Do "parenting" friends ever become "real" friends?  How can I avoid all of this nonsense? 

An inquiring mind wants to know.  Because really, Internet, I don't have time to break in new friends.  I'm still happy with the old ones. 

The Dingo Ate My Baby!!!

You know, I've always believed that a nation's language revealed a lot about its citizens.  And of all the world's langauges, I love what the American version of English says about us as a people.   

Firstly, no other language embraces the world as English does.  We adopt and borrow words from different cultures, just as we adopt and borrow different ideas and trends.  Did you know that the word "ketchup" came to us via Eastern China (where it actually meant fish brine?)  Did you know that more Americans eat salsa than ketchup these days?  How cool is that?    

And show me another language that can use the word "dog" as a noun, a verb AND an adjective?  And then have completely different meanings for the words "hotdog" and "hot-dog"? 

Did you also know that no other language has the sheer volume of words as English?  Did you know that there are fewer than 100,000 words in the French langauge but, according to OED, there are over 900,000 words in the English langauge? (Yeah, baby!  U.S.A.!  U.S.A.!)

Anyway, as an amateur lexicographer, I've always been amazed at the number of words created to describe our individual fears.  For example, we have...

Anuptaphobia- Fear of staying single.
Automatonophobia- Fear of ventriloquist's dummies or wax statues
Paraskavedekatriaphobia- Fear of Friday the 13th
Pteronophobia- Fear of being tickled by feathers.
Spheksophobia- Fear of wasps (the animals, not the people)
Ichthyophobia- Fear of fish

Anyway, I bring all of this up because Best Life magazine just published the results of a poll they took regarding the Greatest Fear that Men have regarding their Preteen/Teenage Child.  Here were the results:

He/she will be killed or seriously injured in a car accident:    30%
He/she will abuse drugs or alcohol:    23%
He/she will not succeed in school:    19%
He/she will become sexually active too soon:    17%
He/she will be greatly affected if we get divorced:     4%
He/she will hate me:    3%
He/she may be gay:    2%
He/she will not practice safe sex:    2%

It's ironic to me that, since becoming a father, I've developed a whole new set of fears.  I've never really been one to fear anything in my life.  I'm not afraid of challenges or confrontations, and I'm always willing to try anything once.  But bringing a new life into the world certainly changes all that in a hurry.  As the Peanut gets older, I'm sure I'll be facing all of the above fears soon enough.  But right now, my little 7-month old girl needs the protection of her parents.  Because she's so helpless, I sometimes find myself thinking about all the possible fears that I have for her.  Some of them are absolutely inane like my fear that she'll be eaten by a dingo, my fear that she'll be kidnapped by a pack of ninjas or my fear that she'll grow up to be a stripper.

But more seriously, what about the fears that I have about the Peanut's safety, her health, her education and the state of the world?   Really, this is just the tiny tip on top of the tip of the iceberg's tip.  The actual number of irrational fears that I have about raising a child is pretty much endless.  And in some sort of apparently misguided attempt to soothe my fears, the shrink says that these worries will pretty much last forever.  (Great!  That advice helps a lot. Can I have my fucking money back, please?)  I've surprisingly chilled out a little bit over the past few months.  But at the beginning of BossLady's pregnancy, I was a fucking lunatic.  I'm getting better so I assume that's just part of one's maturation as a parent.  I guess the sooner one accepts that the worrying will never go away, the sooner one can deal with the realities of watching your child grow up.  Every stage will bring a new set of fears.  Great! 

As the wise man once said, "we've got nothing to fear but fear itself." 

But then again, the wise man never had a daughter or met my friend KH.  My buddy KH, the father of 2 boys, recently dropped a pearl of wisdom on me.  He said, "You know.  When you have a son, you only have to worry about one penis.  But when you have a daughter, you have to worry about ALL of them." 

Thanks, dude!  But since my daughter is only 7-months old, for now, I've got enough to worry about. I'm going to put off my fears about her actually being old enough to date...for at least another year or two.

So what about you?  What fears (rational or not) do you have?  about your kids or anything else?  C'mon, Internet.  An inquiring mind wants to know. 

On being outnumbered, reproductive technology and a sheep named Dolly

Recently, BossLady and I have been having discussions on when we will start trying for "L'enfant: Part Deux."  While we certainly want another child, we're having a blast with the Peanut right now.  At 7-months old, she's an adorably fun-loving child who loves nothing more than spending lots of time with her parents.  She's socially well-adjusted and is really thriving due to all the time that we spend together.  So the reality of the situation is that if we had another child right now, that would mean far less quality time spent with the Peanut.

So BossLady and I have come to the conclusion that we'll start trying again towards the end of next year.  Ideally, we'd like the Peanut to be about three years old when her younger sibling comes along.  We're both comfortable with that scenario and, due to other ongoing events in our life, personally feel that it will work out the best for us.    

But recently, an interesting curveball was thrown in our direction.  We found out that two college friends of mine from California who have a son and, like us, are only planning on having one other child, enlisted the services of a reproductive technology company to increase the odds that their second child will be a girl.  The technology  uses a laser to separate sperm cells by size (X-chromosome cells are larger.)  So far, the technology has had a 91 percent success rate in sorting for girls, and close to 75 percent for boys.  In fact, if using IVF-PGD embryo selection, the chances that a resulting birth will be of the gender selected approach 100%.  I won't go into all the scientific research involved in the procedure but if you want to learn more, check out this link.      

Obviously, this is a fairly controversial subject.  There are so many dimensions to this issue that I'm not even going to try and address all of them.  But as a friend of mine said recently, "it all sounds so Gattaca!"  And in a way, I agree with him.  On the one hand, I don't think gender selection, in and of itself, is anywhere near as controversial a subject as stem cell research, human cloning or the selling of human embryos; in many ways, gender selection is just another amazing development in reproductive medicine and follows the path laid down by test-tube babies, donor eggs, and surrogate motherhood.  I also don't think being able to choose a child's gender necessarily means that we're leading down a path where parents will select children based on predicted intelligence, athletic ability, musical talent, or personality tendencies.   

But on the other hand, I do think that we all need to think about the ramifications involved here.  The FDA has determined gender selection technology to be on par with IVF and has announced their intention to monitor this technology rigorously to ensure that it only be used for gender selection purposes.  And I'm glad to see that those practicing this technology are also attempting to self-regulate themselves.  In fact, the technology is not readily available for everyone.  There are limitations.  For now, one can only be a viable candidate if the family is seeking "gender balance."  In other words, you can't choose to have a boy if you already have 2 boys.  Furthermore, pregnancies are not allowed to be terminated in the event that your child is not of the preferred gender.

So where does that leave me and the BossLady?  Honestly speaking, we don't know.  The concept is still so foreign to us that we're learning more about it every day.  And personally, if nature took its course and we ended up having another girl, I wouldn't mind at all having two daughters.  Sure, I'd be outnumbered 3-1 by the women in the household but the most important thing to me is having two healthy, well-adjusted children.  But, at the same time, I won't deny that there's a small part of me that would like to have a son.  I'm sure my shrink would say that this stems from the male ego's need to create miniaturized versions of their idealized self.  But really?  It's more due to the fact that I think it would be great to have one boy and one girl.  It's a nice balance that I think it makes for a good family dynamic. 

Besides, every culture has their own old wives tale for pre-selecting gender.  When BossLady and I first started trying to get her pregnant, we heard a ton of them.  To ensure a boy, the father was supposed to drink a lot of Pepsi while the mother ate only salty snacks.  Alternatively, you could make love under a full moon after ingesting three cups of coffee each.  If you wanted a girl, the woman was supposed to gorge herself on chocolate and both partners should eat lots of fish and veggies.  Then, there were the myriad of ideas about sexual position.  If you wanted a boy, you should make love standing up.  If you wanted a girl, try the missionary position.  Sounds funny and antiquated, doesn't it?  But honestly, I know quite a few people who have tried all of these ideas.  But now, science has presented us with the ability to do more than wishful thinking.      

Like I said, I'm intrigued by the idea.  At first glance, I don't think I have any moral or ethical compunctions about the concept of gender selection.  Whether BossLady and I decide to do it or not will be our own personal choice.  But I'm curious to hear what other people think about it.  For you, is it a medically unethical decision?  Does gender selection conflict with your religion?  Do you think it's merely another technological advance that improves our lives?  Are we headed down a dangerous path?  Is this just another advancement in reproductive science?  Or is it all just much ado about nothing? 
 

Maybe I'll send her to the School of Rock

If aliens landed in America today and watched the local news, they could reasonably come to the conclusion that our nation is raising a society of young sociopaths and violent offenders.  What else could they think after observing the mass prevalence of school violence?  of 11-year olds with guns?  of 13-year old rapists? 

Sure, the aliens would learn about episodic tragedies such as Columbine.  But what would they think about the fact that some high-schools in NYC are so dangerous that fully-armed policemen are stationed on the premises every single day?  Or the fact that many schools are now forced to deploy metal detectors and security cameras? How could they envision students learning anything in this type of environment? 

Every time I pick up the paper and hear about another episode of school violence in New York, I turn to the BossLady and tell her that I'm going to homeschool the Peanut.  I have this romantic notion of structuring her education around the classics, centered on a healthy diet of Latin, ancient history, political science, philosophy and English literature.  And what better place to homeschool a child than in Manhattan?  I envision weekly field trips all over the city: the Museum of Natural History, The Guggenheim, Liberty Science Center, the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian, the Empire State Building, the Nature Conservancy.  The list is literally endless!  And to top it off, we could plan all our annual vacations around the Peanut's education.  I'd take her to see the ruins of Pompeii, the path of Alexander the Great, the Galapagos Islands, Tiannemen Square and the Bolshoi Ballet.  How great would that be? 

Actually, in an ideal world, I'd send the Peanut to the same prep school in NYC that I attended.  The school is an amazingly progressive institution that has a great reputation for academic excellence.  In my graduating class of 120 students, about half the kids ended up at Ivy League schools.  Most of the rest ended up at top institutions (Berkeley, Stanford, and Duke) or at outstanding liberal arts colleges (Vassar, Wesleyan or one of the 7 sisters.)  The academic environment was (and I assume, still is) incredible.  Though relatively small, the school is known for producing uniquely intelligent minds (alumni include Jack Kerouac, William Carlos Williams, Roy Cohn, and James Salter.)  At the age of 12, we were immersed in intensive language classes that covered 6 different languages.  Later, we would focus on one language, choosing among the standard romance languages but also from Chinese, Russian or Swahili.  Aside from a weekly newspaper, students produced more than 20 other publications each year.  The theater productions were legendary.  Some of the sets and costumes rivaled those of some off-Broadway production.  And the music program was so distinguished that several graduates ended up performing with the NY Philharmonic.  The thought of someone bringing a gun to school was unheard of.  We were all too busy studying to ever really have time to get in trouble!

So why don't I send the Peanut there?  Well, I can sum that up in two words...CASH MONEY!  The school's annual tuition is about $30,000/year.  That's for a DAY school.  And whether your child is a 3 year-old or a teenager, the tuition is the same amount!  Sorry.  But I just can't see spending that kind of money for the Peanut to play with finger paint all day.  Maybe in a few years when I hit the Lotto jackpot.  But right now?  I don't think it's happening in our near future.  Shit, that's more than my entire college education cost! Also, to be completely honest, I'd rather see the Peanut thrive in some of the renowned NYC public schools like Stuyvesant or Bronx Science.  I like the idea of her academic career including a dose of reality (as opposed to an environment where 16 year-olds drive $50,000 cars.) 

So where was I?  Ahhh yes...homeschooling.  I have to admit I'm semi-attracted to this idea.  When I  used to mention my potential interest in homeschooling the Peanut to friends, I wasn't really serious.  After all, let's face it.  The old stereotype of homeschooling was a bunch of overzealous religious isolationists who raised their children in the boondocks of Appalachia and taught them to read only the Bible, Treasure Island or Lord of the Flies.  The old stereotype also conjured up images of unsocialized children, ill-prepared to deal with the world around them.  Sure, homeschooled kids kicked ass at the National Spelling Bee but you'd never really want to date one, would you?  The kids always looked so freaking weird.  But times have changed.  So maybe it's time to start re-evaluating the idea of homeschooling again. 

Currently, over 1.2 million children are being schooled at home. The number seems to be increasing every year.  And why not?  Like me, many parents are either scared shitless to send their children to dangerous environments or are frustrated by the poor academic performance exhibited by the local public schools.  The benefits seem relatively clear.  Homeschooled children perform better on standardized tests, learn at their own natural progression, and have greater educational freedom.  Instead of worrying about peer pressure, competition, boredom or bullies, these children can focus on their academics in a much more efficient manner.  In many cases, the closer family relationships demanded of homeschooling tend to reduce the rebellious or self-destructive behavior that may occur from exposure to outside environments.   

So what are the cons?  At first glance, one might be tempted to say the socialization aspect would be a big one.  But as I've learned from my parenting blog friends Jay and Kim, there are plenty of outside after-school opportunities to form bonds with other kids (Boy Scouts, church, etc.).  Another criticism of homeschooling can be related to that old axiom about how an organization is only as strong as its weakest link.  This metaphor is meant to convey the concerns about possible gaps in instruction and the potential lack of parent-educator's qualifications.  In other words, if math is not your strong suit, how can you expect to teach it adequately? 

Personally, I think these concerns are minor ones at best.  Like every other single aspect of parenting, one has to decide what works best for you.  And though I like the concept of homeschooling the Peanut, realistically I know this isn't going to happen for us. Firstly, we can't afford for the BossLady and I not to be working. We're a dual-income family who need every penny of those dual incomes. Second, I'm not sure how healthy it is for children to spend so much time with their parents.  Sure, to a certain degree, it fosters a special closeness.  But at the same time, I think it's important for a child's growing sense of independence to have that time away from mom and dad.  Also, I think that a structured education will provide the Peanut with a more diverse education than might necessarily be possible at home.  Teaching her myself, I might subconsciously emphasize my own interests, as opposed to letting her develop her own.  And lastly, I'm a big proponent of team sports for women.  Call me a Title IX kind of guy.  I think women's sports are great and I want the Peanut to be involved in as many as she likes.  I think that girls playing sports fosters a self-confidence that will help them immeasurably throughout their lives. 

But as always, I'm curious to hear what all of you think about homeschooling.  Am I missing something here?  If you're for it, tell me why.  If you're against it, explain your reasoning.  An inquiring mind wants to know. 

(p.s. Click here for my favorite homeschooling joke.)

Ramble On (musings on music)

"I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. Music is the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part"-Nick Hornby

"Life ain't nothing but a good groove.  A good mix tape to put you in the right mood."-The Beastie Boys

I don't know any baby songs.  Not a single one.  Sure, I know the chorus to "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands."  And I make up my own sentences in French to the tune of "Frere Jacques."  But really, I hear other parents singing childrens songs to their kids and while they ring slightly familiar, I don't think I know enough of any kids songs to make it through a whole tune (even if I was onstage at our local karaoke dive bar and the words were right in front of me.)  I chalk this disability up to the fact that my parents were immigrants and weren't always around to sing me songs during my childhood. 

But the funny thing is that I sing to the Peanut all the time.  Most of the time, I make up the lyrics, the chorus, and the melody.  But it doesn't matter what the BossLady and I sing to her.  The Peanut loves it.  Any time she hears her parents singing to her, it puts a big smile on her face.  It just goes to show that we're all born with a love for music and that this love is part of what makes us all human. 

As for me?  I've had a long, passionate love affair with music my entire life.  And like most people, I can trace the entire arc of my life through music.  When I was young, I remember listening excitedly as local legends like Afrika Bambatta, Run DMC and LL Cool J announced their arrival on the streets of New York.  During the angst-filled, early-teenage years, I recall being in my room with headphones on and listening to the haunting sounds of the Cure, Morrissey, and Depeche Mode.  In my late teens, I spent a lot of time with friends hitting the local jazz clubs and hearing young talents like Roy Hargrove and Terence Blanchard, guys who seemed not much older than me but who would later go on to reach jazz stardom.  By the time I reached college, I was listening to everything and anything.  My personal soundtrack was a cacophony of music, encompassing everything from world music to techno to hard-core rap.  But through it all, I never forgot my first loves...rock and pop (this might have to do with the fact that when I was 12 years old, the first live concert I went to see was Rush in Madison Square Garden.)

Aside from that first concert at the Garden, I've had a series of unique musical experiences that I'm sure contributed significantly to who I am today.  Living in NYC has afforded me opportunities that were amazingly unique and which I'll treasure forever.  When I was 13, I not only saw the Who live at Shea Stadium but also watched Simon & Garfunkel in Central Park perform in front of 500,000 people.  When I was 18, I smoked a joint with Sting at a friend's apartment as he discussed the artwork of Botero.  I once sat front-row and saw Eric Clapton perform live at Lincoln Center's Avery Fisher Hall.  I heard Sophie B. Hawkins sing "Damn. I wish I was your lover" with an acoustic guitar in my friend's office.  I saw Sonic Youth perform in NYU's auditorium, Beck at the top of the World Trade Center, and KRS-One at a local high school.  I've been backstage with Springsteen and the Black Crowes.  And I've seen Prince, the Rolling Stones, U2 and David Bowie live in concert more times than I can even remember.  These are all some of the strongest memories in my life. 

But we all have musical memories, don't we?  I've always believed that there are times in a person's life when, very occasionally, a song or an album can express who you are, perfectly.  Similarly, there are times in one's life when it seems as if the music was perfectly aligned with the times.  These song or album memories can burn in one's mind as strongly as the events that they marked.  Will I ever forget leaving New York and driving cross-country alone to start college in California while listening to U2's Joshua Tree?  Will I ever forget listening to The Grateful Dead playing "Terrapin Station" while taking mushrooms and watching the sun set in Red Rocks Amphiteater?  And though I can't remember any details regarding a break-up with an ex-girlfriend, will I ever forget listening to Sinead's "Nothing Compares 2 U" over and over again?  At this point in my life, the memory of those songs is stronger than the experiences that I connect them with. 

But now that I'm a father, I obviously have much less time to listen to music or keep up with current bands.  Instead of putting on some headphones and listening to music for hours on end, I find that songs have become background music to me.  Or more like a diaper-changing soundtrack.  And for the first time in my life, I have to really struggle to listen to new music.  And it's tough because there's a lot of new music out there that I find myself really liking: Connor Oberst & Bright Eyes, Kanye West, Danger Mouse, Maroon 5, the Killers, and Beanie Siegel. 

As the Peanut gets older, I'm assuming that I'll have even less time to listen to my own music.  And though I'm semi-dreading it, I know that in order to bring more smiles to my daughter's face, I'm going to be spending a lot of time listening to the Wiggles, Ralph's World, Laurie Berkner, or They Might Be Giants.  I can accept this.  Mainly because I'm so infatuated with my daughter that I'll do anything to put a smile on her face.  My new mission in life is to make her life as happy as possible.  But at the same time, I can't help feeling a little sad that music is playing a little smaller role in my life. 

But for now?  Well, if you happen to see a tall Asian guy wearing sunglasses, walking around Tribeca singing Morissey's "suedehead" to a smiling little baby in a stroller...you'll know who it is. 

(p.s. Please feel free to shout out any new musical recommendations you might have.  I'm always on the lookout.  Just bought new releases from Moby and Beck.  Anything else I should get?)