Eye of the Tigger

It's a universal truth often recognized that parents can be counted on as a consistent source of embarrassment for their children. As a parent, I now understand that this is partially due to circumstance and partially because it's sometimes fun to fuck with your kids.

It's inevitable that due to generational differences, the way that I talk, dress, think, and act, I will cause my children to run searching for a soft patch of dirt in which to bury their heads indefinitely. There will be times - and indeed, likely already have been times - when my own children will have the overwhelming desire to shun me and publicly deny ever knowing me. (Hopefully, such a time will never coincide with a situation where I may need a reliable alibi.)



The truth of the matter is, though, that there are times when parents feel the same way about their children.

Listen, like every parent, I'm going to love my kids. I would die for my kids. I would kill for them if needs be (provided I had a reliable alibi). But there are certain times when in public, I take a couple of steps away from my children and just don't make eye contact or anything so as to maintain plausible deniability.

A few weeks ago was one of those times. It was the evening of September 6 (just in case future me is time travelling and needs a point of reference so as not to create a paradox by running into our past self) at an annual picnic / mini-fair that our real estate agent's agency puts on every year. As usual, they had food and various rides and activities, one of which happened to be one of those inflatable gladiatorial arenas where two competitors try to knock each other off of their respective pedestals with padded foam weapons of non-destruction.

My kids, like so many others, eagerly lined up for the chance to knock each other senseless. Only when they got the chance, this happened:

Given the chance to beat each other senseless, my kids... just kind of flailed at each other uselessly? I mean, I don't want my kids to grow up to be assholes (Marty McFly and I have that in common, at least). I don't want my kids to be aggressive, but I just hope that they are assertive enough to stand up for themselves. And honestly, how many times have they gotten in serious trouble at home for physically attacking each other apropos of nothing? The answer, like it is for most siblings, is a lot.

I guess it wasn't particularly embarrassing, but typically in this game, the whoever knocks their opponent off their stand for the best two out of three rounds, wins. For my children, the teenager running the thing had to basically ask them nicely to leave.

Would I rather they beat the living daylights out of each other? Under any other circumstances, I would say no. I just hope that as they get older, my children are able to let the beast out of the cage every once in a while when it counts. They don't need to go into a blood rage, but a little bit of that fighting spirit wouldn't hurt (or would hurt the right target). I guess all they need is a little encouragement and their own training montage.