Uncool and thankful
- John DeSantis
- Nov 27, 2019
- 4 min read
When your kids are too cool for you, it’s never too late to notice. I remember taking trips to New York City with my dad when I was young, either going to work with him when his office was there, or just going out to a restaurant like Carmine’s, Katz’s Deli, Veniero’s his favorite bakery, or to a Broadway show. One of my earliest memories was a trip me and my brother took with him to Radio City Music Hall for the first time in 1990 to see the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles “live” onstage. I thought, “This is so radical, these are the same guys from the movie right here in real life!” For a 6 year old like me this was sublime and magical. To others, the show was a childhood-killing, Pizza Hut cash grab documented here.
That magic remained with me, and to this day I still think about my dad when I’m in New York City. I was anxious and excited the first time I brought my oldest son with me to work. He had the innocent enthusiasm I vaguely remembered from my youth, now dulled by the daily commute that made it ordinary to an adult. He boarded the commuter bus like it was a magical chariot sent just for us. He gazed out the window as we rode on the New Jersey Turnpike at the industrial sights and Newark Airport, excited as only a small child could be.
We sipped our respective to-go cups, mine filled with coffee, his with Ovaltine. He saw the skyline draw closer, pointed at the tallest building and asked if that was where I worked. No, but I work in one of those buildings. This was enough for him to point at every building bigger than 10 stories he’d see after that trip and ask if that was “your work.”
Any chance he got after that, whether a half day Friday before a holiday weekend or another off day, if we’d open up the option for him to take a trip with me to the big city, he would brim with excitement at another trip, another ride on bus, great pizza, dessert or at least a huge cookie, a trip to the Lego store to see the latest wonders they’d sculpted or just another look at the $900 Millennium Falcon model up close, the subway and its peculiar smells (no worse than anything he or his brothers left in a diaper or toilet).
Something happened recently, and it affected me more than I thought it would. At my son’s school they have 8th grade buddies who often visit the class and try to impart some of that 8th grade wisdom on these eager younger kids. Hopefully this wisdom only included the responsible stuff, not the things me and my friends were doing around that age like lighting bags of dog shit on fire after watching Billy Madison 30 times or making war movies in one of our backyards mainly as an excuse to bury M80’s in the ground as a practical battlefield special effect.
Like most kids, my son thinks the older ones are cool, cooler than his parents at least. I remember these same feelings growing up. You take pride in older kids who take a liking to you because they make you feel older and less restricted than the confines of your current age. They’ve got the experience to know what’s what, they’re the purveyors of cool.
The age gap between your parents by comparison seems like an eternity. After you reach the point of not needing to be a certain age to do things (mainly driving/voting/drinking/wiping) you realize getting older is like finding a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Only the golden ticket is to a wealth of bills, taxes, worry, and an untrustworthy metabolism among many other things.
We offered my son to take a trip to work with me on the half day before Thanksgiving break, only this time if he went to school that day his 8th grade buddy would be going to his class to do an activity with him. As we gave him the former option he perked up with glee, but then when offered the latter he proclaimed he wanted to go to school that day. I’m not complaining my son didn’t want to skip a day at school (I’m sure I’ll bite my tongue at these words someday to the extent I choke on it), but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it stung a little bit.
I know there will be more times to take him to “the big city” as he calls it, but these small moments or hints of rejection are there to give us something. Whether it be choosing a sleepover with grandparents over staying home, or doing something with an older kid they look up to, or going somewhere with a cool aunt or uncle, they show us a small glimpse of what’s to come. Those are days that we’ll be vying for time in their schedule like they’re a Kardashian at the grand opening of a nightclub. I’m thankful for these small moments because they make me realize the big moments I have with my kids now.
Listening to this playlist:
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