I never had a video camera growing up, despite my repeated attempts to convince my parents otherwise. That didn’t stop me though. I borrowed my neighbor’s camera, got some friends together, shot some footage and found a place that rented editing bays by the hour so I could crudely stitch together a few raw movies.
I bought my first video camera during my college years. Yes, there is footage that would prevent me from running for office. No, you can't see it. There has either been one strapped to my face or within easy reach since. And it’s only gotten worse since the kids came along.
Technology has only served to feed my habit like a Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting. Digital video lets me shoot forever and powerful editing software lets me pluck out all the good parts. Treating my life as my own personal Truman Show, I’ve captured all of the major moments—marriage, honeymoon, births (or more accurately the moments just after), first smiles, first food, crawling, steps…
I obsessively spend days going over the footage and editing together sixth months of my kids' lives into little 15 to 20 min packages. My goal in making them is to not only entertaining my family, but anyone else who would see them. Even though nobody else does.
I estimate that for each one, I probably spend anywhere from 10 to 15 hours before they are ready to be burned to DVD and shipped off to a very select group of people on my mailing list.
These movies are filled with my love for my kids. I’m extremely proud of them. And I have a close connection with my audience, small as it may be, who I know are rabid fans.
Sadly, I cannot show them to you. You know how it is with me. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and all that. I do realize that this makes this whole post one giant tease. But this never-ending movie project is an increasingly important, and time consuming, part of my life, which makes it fodder for the part where I document my kids’ lives in print.
But I promise you this: if you ever see me, and if you’re truly interested, I promise I’ll show one to you.
UPDATE - Although it has no pictures of my kids, if you want to experience some of the home video goodness, check out this audio version of one of my favorite segments ever. It's still wildly entertaining.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Painting Toes Pink
The Daily Show tipped me off to a story that’s been bubbling up across the media this week. Clothing store J Crew recently featured an ad that showed a mother and son where the son’s toenails were painted pink. Apparently the idea of a nail polish on a boy was cause for concern, but it was the color of the toes in question that seemed to send people into a tizzy.
Psychologists and other “experts” came out of the woodwork and spoke with places like Fox News (natch) about a world that is “abandoning the trappings of gender identity.” A spokeswoman for some traditional values organization fears that the ad “features blatant propaganda celebrating transgendered children.”
As the father of a boy who on occasion likes to paint his toes and fingers pink, I’d like to say one thing to these people:
FUCK YOU!
Just because your narrow ideas of gender identity are old fashioned doesn’t mean you have the right to suggest that my kid is anything but a perfectly happy, well-adjusted little boy. How dare you take a young mind that is open and without prejudice and try to teach him that a color is off limits because somebody along the line decided that it was “for girls” or that he can’t express himself by putting that color on his nails. Fuck you for implying that my son will have identity issues and fuck you for insinuating that I’m a bad parent because of it.
I thought we were beyond this. I grew up in the age of Free to Be You and Me and was taught that boys and girls shouldn’t be defined solely by their gender. It was okay for William to have a doll if that’s what he wanted just like it was okay for me to play kitchen with my sister. And because of the time I spent play cooking, I became a tornado in the kitchen who makes a mean red sauce. There’s nothing girly about marinara.
A color is a color, not a gender. Pink is red and white mixed together, not a lifestyle. A little nail polish isn’t going to change the way somebody is wired. Yes boys and girls are different, but it’s not because of colors or princesses or sports.
I’d like to invite these small minded so called specialists to spend some quality time with my son who does many “boy” things, like run around like a maniac and pretend to shoot guns and play superheroes and video games…all while wearing bright pink nail polish.
You simple minded, scared, homophobic assholes can raise your kids however you want. But you shut your damn mouths when you talk about mine.
Psychologists and other “experts” came out of the woodwork and spoke with places like Fox News (natch) about a world that is “abandoning the trappings of gender identity.” A spokeswoman for some traditional values organization fears that the ad “features blatant propaganda celebrating transgendered children.”
As the father of a boy who on occasion likes to paint his toes and fingers pink, I’d like to say one thing to these people:
FUCK YOU!
Just because your narrow ideas of gender identity are old fashioned doesn’t mean you have the right to suggest that my kid is anything but a perfectly happy, well-adjusted little boy. How dare you take a young mind that is open and without prejudice and try to teach him that a color is off limits because somebody along the line decided that it was “for girls” or that he can’t express himself by putting that color on his nails. Fuck you for implying that my son will have identity issues and fuck you for insinuating that I’m a bad parent because of it.
I thought we were beyond this. I grew up in the age of Free to Be You and Me and was taught that boys and girls shouldn’t be defined solely by their gender. It was okay for William to have a doll if that’s what he wanted just like it was okay for me to play kitchen with my sister. And because of the time I spent play cooking, I became a tornado in the kitchen who makes a mean red sauce. There’s nothing girly about marinara.
A color is a color, not a gender. Pink is red and white mixed together, not a lifestyle. A little nail polish isn’t going to change the way somebody is wired. Yes boys and girls are different, but it’s not because of colors or princesses or sports.
I’d like to invite these small minded so called specialists to spend some quality time with my son who does many “boy” things, like run around like a maniac and pretend to shoot guns and play superheroes and video games…all while wearing bright pink nail polish.
You simple minded, scared, homophobic assholes can raise your kids however you want. But you shut your damn mouths when you talk about mine.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Locksmith
The wail was so loud it practically made my phone vibrate. I could only imagine what it sounded like in person.
“What’s happening?” I asked WonderWife™ during my traditional I’m on my way home to you phone call from the road.
“The Bean locked himself out of his room.”
This was not entirely unexpected. The Bean had started playing with the locks on the doors in our house. I was afraid that my previous warning to him about the consequences of such actions didn’t stick.
“Keep him locked out for a bit,” I snickered. “That’ll learn him.”
“Oh, I plan on letting that kid dangle for a while,” she said a bit gleefully.
I came home to an exasperated wife and a son who’s eyes were rimmed red from crying. She immediately shoved a bent paperclip in my hand and asked if I could try my luck at getting the door open. The Bean was clearly upset at his prediciment and knew he was in trouble. Plus it was bedtime. WonderWife™ had to get Sprout down and then figure out what was to be the Bean’s alternative sleeping situation in the event I proved unsuccessful.
No pressure. I was confident I’d be able to get the door open. Growing up, I figured out how to circumvent the locks in my house. This was especially helpful when it came to sister torment. And although I am not in the slightest bit handy, I figured I’d use some of my old magic and the door would pop right open.
What I didn’t count on was that this was not your everyday interior lock. No, the geniuses who used to live in my house had installed a standard outdoor lock to secure this bedroom. I'd never noticed this in the five years we’d been living in the house. It was yet another astounding decision the previous owners had made in this house, which included the bathroom that was too narrow to open the door and the refrigerator that blocked off a good portion of the kitchen's entryway. Any key that might have existed to this lock was long gone.
I kneeled down in front of the door with the flattened paperclip and an eyeglass screwdriver. I examined the doorknob and it wasn’t long before I realized that I didn’t know the first thing about picking a lock. I jammed both the clip and the screwdriver into the lock as I had seen in countless movies, but this only served to bend the screwdriver. Dipping back into my movie knowledge database, I tried the ol’ credit card trick. But there wasn’t enough space for a sheet of paper let alone a card.
A few times a very concerned Bean appeared in the hallway and offered suggestions. I have no idea what he was basing his ideas on. I was hardly listening to him. I was channeling all of my energy into not cursing in his general direction.
On to plan C. I grabbed a hammer from the toolbox and using the claw end, I went to work separating the base of the doorknob from the door. After a few satisfying pulls of the handle, the lock broke and the door swung open.
The Bean dried his eyes and happily ran into his room and jumped on his bed. As I tucked him in moments later, I couldn’t help but feel manly. But best of all, I felt useful.
“What’s happening?” I asked WonderWife™ during my traditional I’m on my way home to you phone call from the road.
“The Bean locked himself out of his room.”
This was not entirely unexpected. The Bean had started playing with the locks on the doors in our house. I was afraid that my previous warning to him about the consequences of such actions didn’t stick.
“Keep him locked out for a bit,” I snickered. “That’ll learn him.”
“Oh, I plan on letting that kid dangle for a while,” she said a bit gleefully.
I came home to an exasperated wife and a son who’s eyes were rimmed red from crying. She immediately shoved a bent paperclip in my hand and asked if I could try my luck at getting the door open. The Bean was clearly upset at his prediciment and knew he was in trouble. Plus it was bedtime. WonderWife™ had to get Sprout down and then figure out what was to be the Bean’s alternative sleeping situation in the event I proved unsuccessful.
No pressure. I was confident I’d be able to get the door open. Growing up, I figured out how to circumvent the locks in my house. This was especially helpful when it came to sister torment. And although I am not in the slightest bit handy, I figured I’d use some of my old magic and the door would pop right open.
What I didn’t count on was that this was not your everyday interior lock. No, the geniuses who used to live in my house had installed a standard outdoor lock to secure this bedroom. I'd never noticed this in the five years we’d been living in the house. It was yet another astounding decision the previous owners had made in this house, which included the bathroom that was too narrow to open the door and the refrigerator that blocked off a good portion of the kitchen's entryway. Any key that might have existed to this lock was long gone.
I kneeled down in front of the door with the flattened paperclip and an eyeglass screwdriver. I examined the doorknob and it wasn’t long before I realized that I didn’t know the first thing about picking a lock. I jammed both the clip and the screwdriver into the lock as I had seen in countless movies, but this only served to bend the screwdriver. Dipping back into my movie knowledge database, I tried the ol’ credit card trick. But there wasn’t enough space for a sheet of paper let alone a card.
A few times a very concerned Bean appeared in the hallway and offered suggestions. I have no idea what he was basing his ideas on. I was hardly listening to him. I was channeling all of my energy into not cursing in his general direction.
On to plan C. I grabbed a hammer from the toolbox and using the claw end, I went to work separating the base of the doorknob from the door. After a few satisfying pulls of the handle, the lock broke and the door swung open.
The Bean dried his eyes and happily ran into his room and jumped on his bed. As I tucked him in moments later, I couldn’t help but feel manly. But best of all, I felt useful.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Superhero Costume Party
The Bean is slowly dipping his toe into the world of super heroes. Though he is not quite ready to trade Spider-Man for Lightning McQueen or stop watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse in favor of Batman, he is getting more inquisitive about pop culture’s costumed heroes. Thankfully, there are a couple of The Bean’s pre-school friends who seem to be guiding his interest. Recently, the Bean was invited to one of their birthday parties and I was thrilled to learn it was a superhero themed costume party.
“So who does the Bean want to be?” I asked WonderWife™ when she told me about the event.
“He picked Robin.”
“Robin?” I asked incredulously. “Robin?”
“Yes, Robin.”
“Robin’s not a superhero," I said glumly, "He’s a sidekick.”
“So who does the Bean want to be?” I asked WonderWife™ when she told me about the event.
“He picked Robin.”
“Robin?” I asked incredulously. “Robin?”
“Yes, Robin.”
“Robin’s not a superhero," I said glumly, "He’s a sidekick.”
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Wit and Wisdom of the Bean: Volume 6
In what's become one of my favorite regular features here (okay my only regular feature), I'm happy to present a fresh batch of awesomeness direct from the brain of the Bean:
Me: "How was school today?"
The Bean: "Chocolate!" (10/10)
"My yo yo broke but that's ok. My brain gave me options and now I have two toys." (10/10)
Sprout: "Daddy is the best cooker."
The Bean: "But he’s not the best looker." (1/11)
"Real animals are not made of this stuff. Real animals do not have tags on their backs and their eyes are not hard. Real animals have squishy eyes." (10/10)
"Ice cream is healthy when you’re in the desert, cause it’s hot. When you’re in the desert you need to eat something cold cause it’s hotter there than summer and you might throw up." (12/10)
"I know why your body gets smaller when it gets old. It knows you’re getting old and it knows you’re going to die soon, so it gets smaller to fit in the hole [in the ground]." (12/10)
"If you have pink lipstick on how do you know what is the lipstick and what is your lip?" (12/10)
"You can tell they’re Hot Wheels because of the fire on their sides." (1/11)
"Lifeguards can throw out life savers, but they can't throw out lightsabers." (1/11)
"A cliff is land but then that land breaks apart." (1/11)
"You can really string this cheese!" (2/11)
Upon being asked if he’s excited to learn to drive when he’s older: "I don’t want to drive, I just want lots and lots of money." (2/11)
"Boys don’t like pretty, they like fancy." (2/11)
Past Wisdom:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Holiday Edition
Valentine's Day Edition
Me: "How was school today?"
The Bean: "Chocolate!" (10/10)
"My yo yo broke but that's ok. My brain gave me options and now I have two toys." (10/10)
Sprout: "Daddy is the best cooker."
The Bean: "But he’s not the best looker." (1/11)
"Real animals are not made of this stuff. Real animals do not have tags on their backs and their eyes are not hard. Real animals have squishy eyes." (10/10)
"Ice cream is healthy when you’re in the desert, cause it’s hot. When you’re in the desert you need to eat something cold cause it’s hotter there than summer and you might throw up." (12/10)
"I know why your body gets smaller when it gets old. It knows you’re getting old and it knows you’re going to die soon, so it gets smaller to fit in the hole [in the ground]." (12/10)
"If you have pink lipstick on how do you know what is the lipstick and what is your lip?" (12/10)
"You can tell they’re Hot Wheels because of the fire on their sides." (1/11)
"Lifeguards can throw out life savers, but they can't throw out lightsabers." (1/11)
"A cliff is land but then that land breaks apart." (1/11)
"You can really string this cheese!" (2/11)
Upon being asked if he’s excited to learn to drive when he’s older: "I don’t want to drive, I just want lots and lots of money." (2/11)
"Boys don’t like pretty, they like fancy." (2/11)
Past Wisdom:
Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
Volume 5
Holiday Edition
Valentine's Day Edition
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Facebook Announcement
In my ever-expanding plans for world domination through blogging, I’m happy to announce a brand spanking new Daddy Geek Boy page on Facebook.
You read my blog and you follow me on Twitter, why should you “like” DGB on FB? Well, if you’re as addicted to Facebook as I am you probably spend more time interacting with people there than anywhere else and the FB page will send a link to every post right to your news feed. Plus links to other blog posts, like Reeling movie reviews and Culture Brats. And every once in a while, I might link to something funny or interesting like this.
Don’t worry if you’re not on Facebook. This place will always be the hub of any DGB activities. But if you are amongst the 500 million people who use FB, click here to pop on over, check out the new digs and click that like button.
I humbly thank you.
You read my blog and you follow me on Twitter, why should you “like” DGB on FB? Well, if you’re as addicted to Facebook as I am you probably spend more time interacting with people there than anywhere else and the FB page will send a link to every post right to your news feed. Plus links to other blog posts, like Reeling movie reviews and Culture Brats. And every once in a while, I might link to something funny or interesting like this.
Don’t worry if you’re not on Facebook. This place will always be the hub of any DGB activities. But if you are amongst the 500 million people who use FB, click here to pop on over, check out the new digs and click that like button.
I humbly thank you.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Exit Through the Parking Lot
There hadn’t been a Bean-friendly movie in theaters for many months, so I was excited when Hop opened. I had been planning to take the Bean for a few weeks and when I broached the subject with him, he seemed excited. Soon tickets were bought and a giant tub of popcorn procured. But about a half-hour into the movie, the Bean signed “all done”, which is the last remaining vestige of teaching him sign language as a toddler. A few moments before, I had noticed him sitting rigid in his seat, hands over his eyes. As much as I wanted to see the rest of the flick, it would have been bad parenting to keep him there. He asked to leave again. We left.
The Bean was despondent as we walked out of the theater. My attempts to find out what was bothering him went ignored. We passed by a furniture store and I suggested we go inside to test-sit the couches. When the Bean found a rocking chair, his disposition brightened some. After several minutes of chasing each other around the store, my boy was back. I found a nice over-stuffed sectional for us to crash on and I was finally able to coax his troubles from him.
There was a scene in the movie, where a cute and fuzzy talking bunny is hit by a car. Although the bunny was barely touched, he feigned hurt to gain the driver’s sympathy. The driver, thinking he had maimed a small animal picked up a rock in order to put the rabbit out of its misery. At the last minute the bunny realized what’s happening, a bit of chaos ensued and thus began the comic misadventures of man and bunny that drove the rest of the story.
Although all of this is played for laughs, this scene is what bothered the Bean. He couldn’t get over it and he worried that another “scary” moment might be around the corner. While having to bail before the end credits disappointed me, I understood that doing anything more than complying with the Bean’s wishes to leave the theater would have been incredibly hypocritical of me. Because when I was a kid, I was petrified of the movies.
My first movie memory is of Superman. When faced with the death of his beloved Lois Lane, Superman flies around the world backwards and turns back time. As a young child seeing this on the big screen, I completely and utterly lost my shit. For years afterward, I would have panic attacks at the mere mention of going to see a movie. When I did make it inside, I would often have to leave mid-flick. As a result, my dad and I spent a lot of time doing deep breathing exercises in many a movie theater parking lot.
Amazingly I not only got over my fear, but I transformed into a giant movie nerd. To those closest to me, particularly the ones who endured my phobia, my obsession with movies stands as the greatest of ironies. Any psychologist worth their salt would say that my connection to movies is a subconscious way of overcoming my childhood fears. Though I guess I didn’t just overcome them, I obliterated them.
All of this ran through my mind as the Bean and I ate lunch. I fought off the urges to try to explain to him that the movie wasn’t supposed to be scary, that even though some scenes can be thrilling, movies are filled with happy endings that make us feel good. But I knew that anything I said would have been as pointless as when people said them to me many, many years ago when I was a freaked out kid. The best thing I could do here was to accept that my son is my clone, to stand by him and to realize that this wouldn’t be the first time we walked out of a movie together.
I hope that the Bean doesn’t develop the level of fear that I had as a kid. It was something that haunted me for a long time. But if he ever does, he’s lucky because he’s got me for a dad—somebody who understands what he’s going through and will stand by him unconditionally, and somebody who knows plenty of deep-breathing exercises and where the best places are in parking lots to do them.
The Bean was despondent as we walked out of the theater. My attempts to find out what was bothering him went ignored. We passed by a furniture store and I suggested we go inside to test-sit the couches. When the Bean found a rocking chair, his disposition brightened some. After several minutes of chasing each other around the store, my boy was back. I found a nice over-stuffed sectional for us to crash on and I was finally able to coax his troubles from him.
There was a scene in the movie, where a cute and fuzzy talking bunny is hit by a car. Although the bunny was barely touched, he feigned hurt to gain the driver’s sympathy. The driver, thinking he had maimed a small animal picked up a rock in order to put the rabbit out of its misery. At the last minute the bunny realized what’s happening, a bit of chaos ensued and thus began the comic misadventures of man and bunny that drove the rest of the story.
Although all of this is played for laughs, this scene is what bothered the Bean. He couldn’t get over it and he worried that another “scary” moment might be around the corner. While having to bail before the end credits disappointed me, I understood that doing anything more than complying with the Bean’s wishes to leave the theater would have been incredibly hypocritical of me. Because when I was a kid, I was petrified of the movies.
My first movie memory is of Superman. When faced with the death of his beloved Lois Lane, Superman flies around the world backwards and turns back time. As a young child seeing this on the big screen, I completely and utterly lost my shit. For years afterward, I would have panic attacks at the mere mention of going to see a movie. When I did make it inside, I would often have to leave mid-flick. As a result, my dad and I spent a lot of time doing deep breathing exercises in many a movie theater parking lot.
Amazingly I not only got over my fear, but I transformed into a giant movie nerd. To those closest to me, particularly the ones who endured my phobia, my obsession with movies stands as the greatest of ironies. Any psychologist worth their salt would say that my connection to movies is a subconscious way of overcoming my childhood fears. Though I guess I didn’t just overcome them, I obliterated them.
All of this ran through my mind as the Bean and I ate lunch. I fought off the urges to try to explain to him that the movie wasn’t supposed to be scary, that even though some scenes can be thrilling, movies are filled with happy endings that make us feel good. But I knew that anything I said would have been as pointless as when people said them to me many, many years ago when I was a freaked out kid. The best thing I could do here was to accept that my son is my clone, to stand by him and to realize that this wouldn’t be the first time we walked out of a movie together.
I hope that the Bean doesn’t develop the level of fear that I had as a kid. It was something that haunted me for a long time. But if he ever does, he’s lucky because he’s got me for a dad—somebody who understands what he’s going through and will stand by him unconditionally, and somebody who knows plenty of deep-breathing exercises and where the best places are in parking lots to do them.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Foolin' Around
“Your son has something he wants to tell you,” WonderWife™ said on the other end of the phone in my office.
A rustling noise was followed by a sheepish voice that said, “Daddy?”
“What’s up, buddy?”
“The dentist said I didn’t brush my teeth very well and I have a cavity.”
As the parent who is responsible for overseeing teeth brushing half of the time, my first thought was: Crap. Parenting fail.
It was still for a beat before the Bean shouted, “April Fools!”
I smiled because he totally got me.
I love a good April Fools joke. And the internet has made April Fools an incredibly fun day.
Over breakfast, WonderWife™ was complaining over the discovery that Flickr had been bought by Yahoo, who added an “e” to the website’s name…until I reminder her what day it was. We proceeded to spend the morning seeing what tricks Google, YouTube, Think Geek and others had planned. There was even a great bacon related one.
As per custom, I managed to get in on the fooling myself. Though I decided to think carefully about how I went about things. (Last year's post here caused me nearly half my readership.) I decided to keep it simple. I had my father believing for a second that he and my mom weren't invited to visit us this summer and a couple of frantic calls from friends confirmed that at least a handful of people believed my Facebook status update that said WonderWife™ and I might be moving across the country. We even got into the spirit over at Culture Brats.
But my favorite prank of the day belonged to my son, because it was his first and because he executed it flawlessly.
A rustling noise was followed by a sheepish voice that said, “Daddy?”
“What’s up, buddy?”
“The dentist said I didn’t brush my teeth very well and I have a cavity.”
As the parent who is responsible for overseeing teeth brushing half of the time, my first thought was: Crap. Parenting fail.
It was still for a beat before the Bean shouted, “April Fools!”
I smiled because he totally got me.
_____________________________
I love a good April Fools joke. And the internet has made April Fools an incredibly fun day.
Over breakfast, WonderWife™ was complaining over the discovery that Flickr had been bought by Yahoo, who added an “e” to the website’s name…until I reminder her what day it was. We proceeded to spend the morning seeing what tricks Google, YouTube, Think Geek and others had planned. There was even a great bacon related one.
As per custom, I managed to get in on the fooling myself. Though I decided to think carefully about how I went about things. (Last year's post here caused me nearly half my readership.) I decided to keep it simple. I had my father believing for a second that he and my mom weren't invited to visit us this summer and a couple of frantic calls from friends confirmed that at least a handful of people believed my Facebook status update that said WonderWife™ and I might be moving across the country. We even got into the spirit over at Culture Brats.
But my favorite prank of the day belonged to my son, because it was his first and because he executed it flawlessly.
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