Holidays – The Gen X Dad

My wife, my son, and I went to see Incredibles 2 a couple of days ago. I was primed to be all on board with the themes of family, appreciation for our connubial counterparts, and our children living up to responsibility. It was all there, and it was good. But, what I wasn’t quite ready for was the emotional power of a movie trailer and a short film before the movie.

We don’t go to the movies that often, so maybe it was the majesty of being in a theater that had me ready to be moved by whatever was projected on the big screen, but damn if that Christopher Robin preview didn’t have me in tears. All grown up with a job, a family, and a stuffy air of responsibility that leaves little room for play and imagination? Fuck that! Not on Winnie the Pooh’s watch!

My son watched the tears welling in my and my wife’s faces. We fought most of them back, but he knew. Oh, he knew. The heart strings weren’t done being manipulated by deft, film maker hands, though. There was a Pixar short that might not get too much repeat watch time at home but was so good. The short film, Bao, used metaphor to explain the difficulty of raising, protecting, and allowing the natural process of nest leaving of our kids. The dad is not present through most of the story, but he shows up at the end with a sweet act of heart in mending the fence between his wife and son. None of the themes were wasted on me.

This little vignette brought the waterworks. My son kept looking back and forth between me and my wife like he just noticed our matching Gucci Mane ice cream face tattoos. I could have left the theater then and felt all the catharsis I needed from a movie. It stuck in my mind in a perfect Father’s Day message that rivaled any heavy-handed spirit of Christmas pandering that we eat up around the holiday season.

To all my fellow dads, to you I say be as silly as you want to be, be content in your need for quiet, be patient with yourself as you work through fatherhood and you-hood, and be gentle with yourself while you decipher the parts of your preceding generation of dads. Some parts will work; some won’t. Hell, I really feel for my dad’s generation having to live up to their dads’ generation that was called the impossible-to-beat “Greatest Generation.” I’m grateful for my Gen X blessing and curse of our receptivity to messages delivered via a screen. Keep the good vibes coming!

Thank you for your unique dad-ness!

Happy Father’s Day!

Otto Scungy

A presentation for tired dads

“I want my cake!”

This clip makes me want to cry. This is my favorite movie dad!

https://youtu.be/WsdqKdXpUUI

Together Forever by Foxy Shazam

Have a good day!

Otto Scungy

If you are a kid and you’re reading this, shame on you! Really, though. Stop reading now and go outside and play or read a book.

Ok, moms and dads, since it’s Memorial Day, and there shouldn’t be any red flags, I need to talk about how we fuck our kids up with Santa Claus. This guy seems to be the source of the biggest, most easily accepted, and most soul crushing cryptozoological phenomenon in the last thousand years. This jolly, red creation is a force of both joy and crippling disappointment, so why do we do it?

As a dad of an almost seven-year-old, I have had to dodge the landmines of my son’s classmates with older siblings telling their peers that there is no Santa. My wife and I have had to practice spurious logic in explaining the synchronous presence of Santas at the mall, in front of grocery stores, at school events, at Christmas festivals, on T.V., and pretty much everywhere you look starting around Thanksgiving. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy. I’m a fan of the vintage style Saint Nicholas, myself. I just know that I’m perpetuating a lie that will inevitably destroy my credibility with my son.

I remember that first Christmas after I found out that there was no such thing as Santa, and I remember having to keep up the ruse for my younger brother, thinking, “You poor, poor bastard. If you only knew what is coming.” My brother is much more emotionally reserved than I am, so he seemed to take it on the chin way better than I did. Santa would be my argument winner for any religious teachings that have followed since. I’m not saying that religion has no merit, because I believe in the Big ‘Ol Clockmaker and the power of faith and prayer, but you’d better not pee dogma on my leg and tell me it’s raining because I have worked through the Santa thing.

As someone who has committed to keeping the faith in the potential shattering of faith, I have to admit that I love it. I enjoy seeing the joy on my son’s face on Christmas morning. I love it when my wife writes a reply letter from Santa and puts it in the mailbox for my son to read. I even like the attempt to get him to see the man with the bag at the mall (still no dice, there). So, am I putting me and my son through psychological boot camp for my own enjoyment? Well, maybe a little.

Santa is fun, but damn it if I don’t get a knot in my belly when I think about that inevitable talk. I’d much rather explain the mysteries of death, where babies come from, or why no one but you, the doctor, or, in a pickle, your parents should ever touch your privates (he’ll figure out the joys of a simple tug job on his own). Maybe Santa is our cultural reminder of the sour and the sweet. Maybe Santa sets us up to be able to handle feeling crestfallen when we learn our parents love us but are fallible humans, institutions are only as good as our active involvement, and that people might just disappoint us (thanks a fucking lot, Bill Cosby). Perhaps Santa is the problem that we’re supposed to reconcile to help us come around to understanding the spirit of Christmas. I just wish it didn’t have to hurt my kid.

Have a good day!

Otto Scungy

Happy Life Day! May the… awe, fuck it.