Chapter 26 part 3: Tag On

Look at this Kardashian kid.  “Put your hands down Khloe!”, I joke.  I’m playing Dad-arazzi for the Short Term Memory Bugle and Kingston is blocking my shot from making a video.  “Dad!  Why are you taking pictures of us?”, he asked.  “Because your soo cuuute!”, I teased in a girly voice.  He’s giving my camera phone the ol’ Heisman Trophy stiff arm.  “Dad!”, he bobs and weaves out of frame.  “Why Dad why?”, he pressed.  And like a deep-diving-philosophical-blue-whale in a kiddie pool (that I am), I almost responded with Budweiser’s “Why ask Why.  Try Bud Light.” commercial.  But instead, he was told, “…So when I’m dying, I could see your baby faces.  Your pimple faces.  Your bearded faces.”.  “You’re not going to die.”, Kingston proclaimed.  “Oh, yes I am.  And you’ll be at Coachella.  Dancing to “old school” Drake.  Too busy to come visit me.”, I explained as he continued to duck my camera.  “Stay still, Boy!  Before I’m gone with the wind.”.  He laughed out loud, and asked, “But aren’t you going to heaven, Dad?”.

Enter Chapter 26 part 3: Tag On

All hail The Incredible Instagram, The Fantastic Facebook, and The Tenacious Twitter.  If it weren’t for them we’d have to listen to each others pretentious hokum, and pseudo insightful exploitative bullshit…in person!  Imagine that!  But fear not, for these social media outlets aren’t only here to capture the way we “humbly” feed the homeless, or to post before and after pictures of our booty workouts.  They can also double as a way to leave our mark on the world; a sort of “I was here” carving on a tree for our kids to read after we’re dead and gone.  Because despite whatever material things we leave behind, our mourning children are going to want more.  More memories than a caption-less photo can show, more stories than any one of our life long friends can tell, and more insight as to what we were doing on a specific day.  Our kids deserve better.  So post away!  Take advantage of these social media outlets and write an opinionated comment, post a Homer Simpson quote, live tweet along with your favorite episode of Naked and Afraid XL, or leave a caption explaining your fascination with restroom selfies.  Whichever the case, leave the kids something to read.  Even if it is a simple “I love you”.

“Yes, I’m going to a heaven.  One without gates.  But even cooler…guess what Kingston! (“what!?”, he asked)…everyone there…will know how to STAY STILL FOR A FREAKIN’ PICTURE!”, I shouted.  Why he turns into a perfect model in front of the Queen’s camera and a complete gremlin in front of mine is truly frustrating.  “Seriously?”, he continued.  “Boy, just give me a two second pose.”, I pleaded clawing into his shoulder the way a bald eagle would it’s prey.  He ended up surrendering, and giving me what I begged for.  In the end, I earned one shaky video laced with hilarious giggles, and five blurry yet oddly artistic pictures of him.  “Perfect!”, I thought as I knew exactly how I was going to edit and caption them: If you need me, just laugh, and I’ll be at your side.  Forever, here and in my afterlife, your dad.

Chapter 1 part 4: Humble Pie

I’ve spearfished Cabrillas.  I’ve made the Dean’s List.  I’ve front-manned for a punk band.  And coached soccer just for kicks.  I’ve Instagramed it, Facebooked it, and Tweeted it.  I’m up to date, and above the rim.  My abs are tight.  My game is quick.  I’m out of sight.  I’m everywhere.  I, I, I….me, me, me.  “Man, Kingston and Quinn are lucky to have a dad like this.”, said my flexing reflection.

Enter Chapter 1 part 4: Humble Pie

A diamond encrusted medallion sways from your rose gold dookie chain.  It reads “World’s Greatest Parent”, and your being paraded around the park on the shoulders of your peers. Combined with your brilliant accolades, and possessing all the tasty snacks, all the cool toys, and all the answers to their “why” questions, you are a Jedi master of parenting. That is, until you wake up.  And according to your kids, your snacks taste like socks, their toys resemble something a caveman-baby plays with, and “Go ask your mom.” is the answer you give for every one of their “why” questions.  Listen, you might have it going on in the mirror, but in reality, we parents aren’t always perfect.  Parenthood will spotlight your weaknesses so don’t let it’s power lead you towards arrogance. Keep your feet grounded, stay connected to your circle of mothers/fathers who’ll keep your ego in check, and remember to laugh at yourself from time to time because you’ll never be as cool as you used to be.

Like a herd of circus-stacking-pachyderm, the neighborhood kids skated by piled on top of one another.  In a head-first-street-luge-pyramid formation they shouted, “Kingston! Get on!”.  It wasn’t long before the speed wobbles caused them to come tumbling down. Crash! Skid! Ouch!, knees were scraped, jeans were scuffed, yet laughter ensued.  The motley crew retreated to the curb; all of them talking at once.  It was all happening here, and right now.  “The Curb” was the place to be, and it’s vibe was exuding the coolness that only Miles Davis could play.  I wanted in.  And as the self-proclaimed “Fresh Prince” of our gated community, blessing the kids with my presence was going to be epic for them.  So I made my way; vaingloriously.  Kingston came rushing toward me with his hands above his head.  “My main man! What an awesome greeting!”, I thought to myself.  “Dad!”, he called.  “You have to stay at home, Dad.”, he suggested.  My mind…blown to smithereens. “Did he just say…”, my ego scrambled to pull itself together.  “Dad, you stay over there. Okay? Dad.”. Kingston, with the neighborhood kids as his audience, embarrassingly ushered me back home. I couldn’t help but to laugh at myself being escorted away like a no-shirt-having-saggy-underwear wearing crazed grandfather, whose sole mission was to crash a teenager’s slumber party. I stayed away, healed my insecurities, and watched from beyond the velvet rope. Kingston was having a blast, and “The Worlds Greatest Parent” had nothing to do with it.