Can't Love 'em Smart



Not So Sharp Permanent Marker Dull Point



I recently heard somewhere the following line which sums up my current realizations about parenting, “Well, you can’t love ‘em smart.” Teenagers have a way of proving that sentiment to be true every day. On Halloween, First Born Son came downstairs to greet my family who was over for dinner and a photo opportunity with the costumed little ones. He had borrowed a "costume" idea from a Halloween episode of The Office where John Krasinski's character, Jim, had written the word “BOOK” across his face to represent Facebook. My family was unfamiliar with the show; so, they swooned over how clever he was. But, my killjoy mom senses were tingling when I examined his face.

“What did you use to write with?”

“Uh, a Sharpie,” he answered without hesitation.

“Was it permanent?”

“Yeah, why?” Duh!

It was still fresh. He still had a window to wipe it off.  For a split second, I entertained the idea of letting him keep it on. The purple Sharpie scrawl would probably remain there for a week, considering his hygiene habits, before it started to fade away. He’d have to face his classmates, his principal and instructors, and his fellow passengers on the subway every day with that mark of stupidity on his face.

As a parent, you think about your children’s future, about the years when they will be further out of your grasp, about the possibility of them getting drunk and falling asleep at a frat party and waking up with a Hitler mustache Sharpied to their upper lips. You don’t worry about them doing this to themselves, sober.  I wasn’t trying to be sadistic when I decided to make him march up to the bathroom to scrub it off. But, the poor kid came back downstairs-face raw, red and broken out- begging for some salve. He looked abused which is worse than looking like a moron. My mother chastised me for my suggestion that he was (a moron). “He is a teenager,” she corrected. Right now, in this house, those two words are synonymous.

It could have been much worse, I know. He could have written “Shit” across his face. With each teenager-ish prank or fumble, I have to just keep saying, If this is his worst offense, I’ll gladly take it.  And, he really is a good kid. But, no, you can’t love ‘em smart.

This post is an entry for Fickle Cattle's Very First Fabulously Fantastic Giveaway!

Your Face Might Freeze That Way

H, after reading my entry about him and viewing the accompanying image, permitted me to use the unflattering sketch of him with the stipulation that I add an image later on that made him look less "special." He was worried that people who might happen upon these representations might think there is something seriously wrong with him. I think that's reasonable request considering he may be the only person kind enough to spare the time to read my entries. So, here is an attempt at a more fair likeness of my second born. He has given me his blessing to post it, saying, "Better. Much better." It really doesn't do him justice. His features are quite striking and where ever we go, strangers approach him about his fabulous hair color. I think he finally realized that all photographs I store of him- those beautiful and those laughable- are subject to be rendered by my pen into illustrations. This reminds me of when my mother used to warn me that if I made an ugly face, the wind would blow and freeze my sour expression forever. I don't think that I've ever met a family who makes more faces than mine does. So, I've given him the admonishment that if he continues to make those, as he calls them, "special" faces, his expression might set like that eternally (at least on a digital file that I can use to embarrass him later on when he is acting particularly prickly).