Do you remember when your parents drove you nuts by treating you as younger than you were?
As a father, I see how it happens. You find a trick that works, and you learn to use it. A joke, a song, a turn of phrase. You pick up their inter-sibling slang. There are dozens of examples, but they move from that turn of phrase (or whatever the trick is based on) before you do. They have dropped the inside joke but you keep repeating it, for years sometimes.
I understand why it drives them nuts, but I don’t want to move on so quickly. I don’t want them to grow up. I want them to freeze where they’re at. I want to enjoy them as children for a while, before they turn into angsty pubescent brats (which is starting).
My son and I were horsing around the other day and he got hurt. I can’t remember how, but the injury was on his hand. One of the tricks I learned to alleviate pain, especially with the girls, is to caress the spot that hurts. Like an automaton, my muscle memory kicked in and a couple fingertips started caressing the inside of his hand.
A look of contempt flashed across his face as he said, “You’re gay.” I laughed harder than I had in months.
Maybe I pay too much attention to the right-wing cranks of the interwebz, but I thought that would be a capital offense among the overeducated dweebs of the elite East Coast cities. His Philadelphia school is undoubtedly where he picked it up.
“Do your friends say that at school?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
I called up my gay kid brother and asked about that. Is he aware that the youth of today still say that? He said it is, and it doesn’t bother him. He hangs out with his frat-boy cousin and pals, who say it all the time. He’s used to it, it’s not so bad. The word to avoid is “fag” or any other derogatory slurs that you know better to use in polite company. My son said the kids don’t say that one.
There is a genre of comedies now, maybe it was always around, that’s based on Gen-Xers and “geriatric millennials” navigating the radically different norms of the younger generations. The first one or two were good, but they quickly became cliché.And exaggerated, as my son showed proved true, again, the old adage: The more things change, the more they stay the same.
The main difference with the kids today is racist jokes. When I was growing up, you didn’t bat an eye at ubiquitous “n-word” jokes and making fun of minorities. I’ve since learned that not everywhere was like St. Louis. But I was recently pointing out a player on the other team as “the black kid.” My son later begged me not to make racist comments in front of the team.
I kind of get it. I wouldn’t have shouted that on the court. Something inside says it feels weird. But it also feels weird to keep calling him “red shoes” or “black socks” when neither of those are the most obvious feature setting him apart from the otherwise all-white team. But that’s where society is. When in Rome…
On the other hand, the fifth-grade jock boys of deep-blue Philadelphia still call each other “gay.”
