The Father, Son and Holy Headphones

I planned on being a cool dad once. And then I became a father.

And so that crazy idea went up in smoke somewhere between failing the geometry of do it yourself home improvement and my second child. I was earnest, but my technique was lacking in the cool department. As it turns out, being a huge Bill Bixby fan wasn’t enough.

If I were to define my parenting style in one word, I’d have to go with eclectic. I understand this definition is better suited to artists and independent bookstore owners than to parents, but it’s me.

My folks were strict disciplinarians. They didn’t subscribe to ‘timeouts’, because they didn’t have to. Our autonomy wasn’t their problem.They were above the law. Thank God I’m not, since my next gen purview allows me to stoop down to my kids level on occasion.

Like this morning when I stole time on my son’s headphones after he went to school. It’s not that he’s against sharing his stuff, but he has a thing about other people’s ears on his stuff and I respect his right to be neurotic. Runs in the family.

So I play hands off. Until he’s gone, at which point I plug in.  I can’t help it if these High-Def headphones are like ice cream to my ears. These hum puppies kill the outside world and make you feel as if you’re in studio. How . . could . . I . . not?

When I’m done I play neater than Dexter on Showtime with my cleanup job. If you can find my DNA on those headphones, it’s only cause you planted it there.

No one ever has to know. Which, I guess, is kinda cool.

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