Someday, because the Saffron Ranger doesn't believe in genetically enhanced designer children, I'm going to have kids of my own. Naturally, I look back on the fond memories of my childhood for ideas on what to do with my own kids. I'll play catch and Mario with them, read them Tolkien before bed and teach them how to ride a bike. I might even not laugh at them when they fall (both on the bike and in life in general).
I'll also try to avoid things I didn't appreciate so much when I was younger. I'll try to be nurturing of their interests, communicative and I will not actually sell them to gypsies; the threat will still be used, as nothing got me in line faster than being reminded of the possibility I could be auctioned off to a bunch of vagabond circus folk who would make me clean up horse shit and repair turbans.
Unfortunately for my kids, I've also gained some ideas about parenting from popular culture, which, I suppose, raised me more than my public education ever tried to. Here's some of the more important principles.
#1: Unethical Psychology
A lot of what I've seen here relates to fast food, much like Morgan Spurlock (Supersize Me) claiming he would punch his kids in the face whenever they saw the Golden Arches. This is called "Positive Punishment" because it's punishment that positively works, but only possibly alienates you from your children. While these instances amuse me, I won't embrace the notion entirely. I will not tell my kids masturbation causes stupidity or blindness, because that's wrong (being, I'm assured by my internet research, a lie). I will also tell them the truth about drugs: people will like them more, until they run out of drugs to share, and that shit's expensive. Parenting is about honesty.
It's also about fear. I'll be anywhere, the beach, the mall, the trailer park and I'll be amazed at the white trash all around me. What really wows me, though, is the parenting. Some fat woman will, without fail, be yelling at her kids. She'll threaten her kids with all sorts of harsh punishments, which, inevitably, are as lacking in her parenting as vegetables in her diet. Those little shits know, they know they can get away with it because Mom isn't getting off her fat ass to smack them or take their Pokemon cards away. It's just not happening.
This is where I'll be different. I won't threaten my kids with punishment when I want them to behave. No, I'll make them ever aware of how important it is they not step out of line. Most parents, mine included, simply always followed up with their stipulations: do that and this will happen. I don't want my children to grow up with such a cause/effect mentality. I want them to be incessently wary. They'll just be too busy to be bad. I don't mean to say I'll be like some drunken hillbilly who could, at any moment, fly off the handle. I'll just raise them in an environment in which they can always be on guard of the worst happening to test their mettle. My kids will know that at any moment, well, not so much that I'd hit them, but more that combat is always an option. They will have to be fully aware of their surroundings as they could be dangerous. Keep your wits about you and answer the riddle correctly=dessert. Incorrectly? Run a mile. It's not waiting for the other shoe to drop; it's knowing it is squared off with your (kickable) ass. This sort of rearing breeds success.
#2: WWBatmanD?
I think this is one of the most important moral questions of our time.
And it's not just for kids, either; it's for parents. When you think about it, Batman has parented no fewer than three Robins, and he only got one of those killed, and according to Meatloaf's Law of Uncaring, two out of three is reasonable.
If my child asks, "Who are you to tell me what to do?" I can paraphrase, "What are you, dense? Are you retarded or something? Who the hell do you think I am? I'm the goddamn Batman!.. Er, your Father!"
They keep making a ruckus at, well, anywhere, and I'll give them some Bat-corporal punishment.
They want to drive the car, well, no one drives the car.
But I can also teach them important lessons, like, the law sucks. I can show them that there is a difference between it and justice, but, no matter how angry we are, we need not resort to violence. I can teach them that, in Bruce Wayne's words, "...this world only makes sense when you force it to." Wait, no. I double-checked and the bit immediately preceding is, "My parents taught me something else, twitching in a pool of their own blood." Huh.
Before that, though, TDK (as his friends call him), was letting Superman know how lame he is for bowing down to any authority figure kind enough to give an order. Lesson: don't be America's bitch.
Batman actually has a biological son now, and it took him about five panels before he screamed at him. Reason? The little snot was crying about not getting his own laptop. Batman told him he was dishonoring himself and his sensei. The text was in read, which must be pretty harsh.
Overall, I think Batman is a parent's best role model.
#3: Setting an Example
I was once asked, "Brandon, if you had to chose between your kids liking Batman or Star Wars, what would you pick?"
I gave this little thought. "Both, or they're out of the house."
While I probably wouldn't be that inflexible (but they have to prefer DC to Marvel), I guess I do like the idea of my kids being like me. I like the idea of them loving the things I love because finally someone will agree with me. Which should happen more often, because I'm always right, but them's the breaks.
I want the chance to educate my children in what's important to me in order to give them good lives, to evidence the value of my own, to make the world a better place. I'll also teach them not to expect the world to go along with it.
A part of me wants to tell my kids that they will be beaten down by mediocrity, scorned for success, marginalized for talent and punished for brilliance. In this respect, Marge Simpson has offered the most succinct advice. "Kids," she said, "aim so low that when you fail, no one will even notice."
I think about his statement, and it makes sense to me. I've seen it myself, all my life. But Homer's (and, I kid you not, my own father's) words echo in the back of my mind, "OK, son. Just remember to have fun out there today, and if you lose, I'll kill you!" Regardless of the humdrum-ness of the world, kids should be encouraged to succeed. I'll just have to show them how. My only problem is, going into film, the easiest way to do this is probably with porn.
Oh well.
So there you have it, a little method to how I will, insanely, raise my kids. Mostly, I want them to know I'll be there for them, or, as Woody Allen put it, "When I was kidnapped, my parents sprang into action. They rented out my room."
-Black Ranger out
My Obscene Amount of Power Over the Ignorant
I was watching Stripes the other day, which, combined with my play-through of Ghostbusters: The Video Game, reminds me how much I love Bill Murray and Harold Ramis. There's this scene in Stripes, Ramis's best in the film, in which he's teaching ESL because he's poor and can speak English better than your average person who can't speak English. Asking the group if any of them knows some English, a timid Italian man raises his hand and offers, "Son of bitch! Shit!" Which is quickly echoed by the rest of the class. This is followed with Ramis and his students, well:
Ramis: I met her on a monday and my heart stood still
Class: They do run run run they do run run
Ramis: Somebody told me that her name was Jill
Class: They do run run run they do run run
Which qualifies them to sing along with their taxi's radio.
Which is funny shit. So, this got me to thinking about my possible post-graduation plan of becoming an English teacher abroad. [insert "study a-broad" joke here]. And while I do, sincerely, want to be paid to do something I do everyday for free (correcting people's grammar), I also want to subvert other peoples' cultures. Maybe I could go to Japan and tell the girls that they don't have to think in terms of what will make them most Japanese, but rather what will make them happy. I could tell the boys they don't have to suppress their sexuality any more than they have to exaggerate it; they needn't have nosebleeds or tentacle rape monsters. They could be themselves, honestly. Or I could tell them I'm glad America dropped the Bomb for no good damn reason and they all need to get their buckteeth fixed. Zing! I'd be like a goodwill ambassador version of Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society, except, you know, funny and racially insensitive. But mostly funny (through racial insensitivity).
I've wondered, based on my recent cosmopolitan experiences in Chicago, how far I could take this, and if it's a humane idea. In my commuting to the Windy City I arrive at Union Station and take my lunch at the food court. While we all know food courts are havens for international understanding, the one at Union Station is exemplary, teaching me all I could ever hope to know about the world's major food-producing cultures. There's Burrito Beach (Mexicans love the runs at the beach), Jamba Juice (only black people seem to work there, which makes me think there's a racist hiring manager somewhere who assumes "Jamba" is an African thing), Pizza Hut (the traditional Italian kitchen is a thatched roof shanty) and Nuts On Main (because Americans know it isn't a real snack food 'til it's covered in candy). Best of all, though, is the "Cajun" joint. It has Chinese food. And people. And is 0% Cajun. What really gets me about this place is those people. I've come across the gift culture of Chinese people before. They are generous, after a sense, but that sense is they expect something in return for the little junk trinket they gave you that they promise they didn't just pick up in Chinatown that morning. These counter jockeys are likewise free with the food, hawking samples at passersby. What has become a joke to the commuters is the siren call accompanying the offer of General Tso's chicken, a raspy, cartoonishly accented beckoning of "Yummyyummyyummy."
I hear this most every time I walk by and I can't help but wonder, "What mean son of a bitch taught this guy English? Who told him people talk that way?" One of my first visits home from college, I referred to something as "neat." My dad bemoaned the money spent on my education if I was going to talk like that. I rephrased to "herculean," but I realized his point: there is an edge of the contemporary in not sounding like an idiot.
World, watch out. I laugh at people sounding like idiots. Ostensibly, I groan, but when a kid on the train is arguing you can't just turn nouns like "sandwich" into a verb, I laugh out how damn dumb he sounds. Imagine, I teach 60+ Japanese kids to say, "I am very happy to be undercutting your economy." Or, less subtle, "I could make some Cajun foods for yous. It's yummyyummyyummy." I'd tell them "Cajun" is the American word for "Nihongo." The "foods" I read on a tip jar at a Chinese buffet and always found it funny.
I know I'm coming down on Asians really hard, but they are the likeliest victims of bad English instruction. This is understandable, considering Asian languages are pictographical, entirely different syntaxically and inferior to American English. Then again, all languages are, because those languages didn't coin the word, "television." This gives me a sort of, oh, I don't know, Jacksonian power over my potential students, and looking at the examples of poorly-taught English in my own land, it arouses a feeling for them I suppose I feel for most Asians exploited in American culture. No, not arousal, despite the unequal representation of Japanese girls in our otherwise fair-minded adult entertainment industry. No, I'm talking about pity. Because, seriously, no one should be told it's ok to yell "yummyyummyyummy" in public.
So, I think I'll just limit my cultural sabotage to more constructive measures, like telling kids they can be creative and free-thinking. I know I could tell them that the best way to learn the parts of a car is to wash mine, but I'd just feel bad. I think it's best for everyone involved if I can just get them to lighten up a bit, and maybe they'll turn down the whole "wearing band-aids and black lace to try to stand out in my homogenous and public gang rape-loving culture" trend. Maybe I can help them reach a level of English enabling them to not be a nude sushi table. Maybe not. My conscience is still out on that one. Either way, I think I'll forego my God-given right to indoctrinate impressionable children for my amusement, and, being lame, help them realize their potential.
Unless, of course, I end up teaching in Germany. I know better than to cross those crazy krauts.
-Black Ranger
Ramis: I met her on a monday and my heart stood still
Class: They do run run run they do run run
Ramis: Somebody told me that her name was Jill
Class: They do run run run they do run run
Which qualifies them to sing along with their taxi's radio.
Which is funny shit. So, this got me to thinking about my possible post-graduation plan of becoming an English teacher abroad. [insert "study a-broad" joke here]. And while I do, sincerely, want to be paid to do something I do everyday for free (correcting people's grammar), I also want to subvert other peoples' cultures. Maybe I could go to Japan and tell the girls that they don't have to think in terms of what will make them most Japanese, but rather what will make them happy. I could tell the boys they don't have to suppress their sexuality any more than they have to exaggerate it; they needn't have nosebleeds or tentacle rape monsters. They could be themselves, honestly. Or I could tell them I'm glad America dropped the Bomb for no good damn reason and they all need to get their buckteeth fixed. Zing! I'd be like a goodwill ambassador version of Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society, except, you know, funny and racially insensitive. But mostly funny (through racial insensitivity).
I've wondered, based on my recent cosmopolitan experiences in Chicago, how far I could take this, and if it's a humane idea. In my commuting to the Windy City I arrive at Union Station and take my lunch at the food court. While we all know food courts are havens for international understanding, the one at Union Station is exemplary, teaching me all I could ever hope to know about the world's major food-producing cultures. There's Burrito Beach (Mexicans love the runs at the beach), Jamba Juice (only black people seem to work there, which makes me think there's a racist hiring manager somewhere who assumes "Jamba" is an African thing), Pizza Hut (the traditional Italian kitchen is a thatched roof shanty) and Nuts On Main (because Americans know it isn't a real snack food 'til it's covered in candy). Best of all, though, is the "Cajun" joint. It has Chinese food. And people. And is 0% Cajun. What really gets me about this place is those people. I've come across the gift culture of Chinese people before. They are generous, after a sense, but that sense is they expect something in return for the little junk trinket they gave you that they promise they didn't just pick up in Chinatown that morning. These counter jockeys are likewise free with the food, hawking samples at passersby. What has become a joke to the commuters is the siren call accompanying the offer of General Tso's chicken, a raspy, cartoonishly accented beckoning of "Yummyyummyyummy."
I hear this most every time I walk by and I can't help but wonder, "What mean son of a bitch taught this guy English? Who told him people talk that way?" One of my first visits home from college, I referred to something as "neat." My dad bemoaned the money spent on my education if I was going to talk like that. I rephrased to "herculean," but I realized his point: there is an edge of the contemporary in not sounding like an idiot.
World, watch out. I laugh at people sounding like idiots. Ostensibly, I groan, but when a kid on the train is arguing you can't just turn nouns like "sandwich" into a verb, I laugh out how damn dumb he sounds. Imagine, I teach 60+ Japanese kids to say, "I am very happy to be undercutting your economy." Or, less subtle, "I could make some Cajun foods for yous. It's yummyyummyyummy." I'd tell them "Cajun" is the American word for "Nihongo." The "foods" I read on a tip jar at a Chinese buffet and always found it funny.
I know I'm coming down on Asians really hard, but they are the likeliest victims of bad English instruction. This is understandable, considering Asian languages are pictographical, entirely different syntaxically and inferior to American English. Then again, all languages are, because those languages didn't coin the word, "television." This gives me a sort of, oh, I don't know, Jacksonian power over my potential students, and looking at the examples of poorly-taught English in my own land, it arouses a feeling for them I suppose I feel for most Asians exploited in American culture. No, not arousal, despite the unequal representation of Japanese girls in our otherwise fair-minded adult entertainment industry. No, I'm talking about pity. Because, seriously, no one should be told it's ok to yell "yummyyummyyummy" in public.
So, I think I'll just limit my cultural sabotage to more constructive measures, like telling kids they can be creative and free-thinking. I know I could tell them that the best way to learn the parts of a car is to wash mine, but I'd just feel bad. I think it's best for everyone involved if I can just get them to lighten up a bit, and maybe they'll turn down the whole "wearing band-aids and black lace to try to stand out in my homogenous and public gang rape-loving culture" trend. Maybe I can help them reach a level of English enabling them to not be a nude sushi table. Maybe not. My conscience is still out on that one. Either way, I think I'll forego my God-given right to indoctrinate impressionable children for my amusement, and, being lame, help them realize their potential.
Unless, of course, I end up teaching in Germany. I know better than to cross those crazy krauts.
-Black Ranger
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