I'm Through Being Cool

Not that I ever was, it’s just that one of that great things about having kids besides getting to finish their bag of Doritos and being able to watch movies like The Incredibles and The Chronicles of Narnia without fear of ridicule, is that as a parent, you are officially un-cool.  There’s no pressure now to even try to pretend that you’re even close to cool anymore.  I can walk outside to get the morning paper in a Teri-cloth Robe and three day old boxers with my fly open and not care in the slightest who sees me.  After all, who am I trying to impress?  My wife?  She’s seen me in much worse shape and I’ve seen her give birth three times.

Giving up on trying to look, act and be cool can be really liberating.  Our whole lives we’ve studied our complexions in the mirror, pinching, popping and scouring it for microscopic flaws.  We’ve brushed, flossed and whitened our teeth and applied braces and head gear to get the perfect smile.  We’ve combed, curled, brushed, gelled, and moussed our hair to get it looking somewhat less like a bird’s nest, and spent shameful amounts of money on clothing, cars and various other material accoutrements, all to hopefully garner respect from our peers and attention from the opposite sex.  We’ve been careful what we say around people so we don’t sound stupid or not with it, and bluffed our way into trying to appear macho and intelligent, posing like a confident, tough guy pimp, all in a pathetic effort to gain some sort of street cred.  We’ve spent our whole lives just trying to be as cool, or hopefully slighter cooler than the next guy.  That’s cool!  Don’t lose your cool!  Be cool!  Cool?  I’m cool.  You cool?

When you become a dad, you’re not cool.  You’re lame.  You’re an embarrassment to everyone, especially yourself.  You drive in mini-vans, talk baby talk, and cry in movies.  In front of grown people when your daughter asks for a drink of water, you’ll say, “You wanna dink a wa-wa, pease?”  Suddenly, Father’s Day cards with pictures of golden sunsets on the cover, that used to be shamelessly sentimental and hokey, are now oddly moving, especially if they are accompanied by a chicken scratch signature from your three year old with two backwards E’s.  You get incredibly worked up and homicidal at a tee-ball game if your team kids gets a bad call from the umpire because you know your they’re going to cry all the way home about it if they lose.  The next day you realize that you missed the actual professional playoff game on T.V. because you were in the garage assembling a Barbie R.V. or Tyco train set and got carried away playing with it, …by yourself.  Face it; you’re the Beaver’s dad.  

What kills me is living in L.A. with all these parents who think they’re still cool.  “Hey soccer mom in the sweats with “Juicy” written across your ass, you’re grossing us out!  Hey Costco dad, leave the tiny Mercedes convertible sports car for the younger guy whose head doesn’t reflect the sun when he’s driving it, and who actually still has a shot at getting the girl in the mini-skirt on the sidewalk!”  Face it, Homer Simpson. You’re done, finished, kaput, start acting like it.

Parents trying to act young are the worst.  Sure, I still dress like I did in high school but so do most guys on the weekends.  I’m talking about the parents who try and wear the same stuff kids today are wearing, the strategically faded jeans, the frayed army cap nudged to the side and Dolce & Gabana sunglasses while drinking a red bull  vodka.  “Earth to you:  You look stupid.”  You shouldn’t be listening to FallOut Boy and playing Dance Dance Revolution when you’re a grown man, get a grip.

And this is coming from a guy who many young skater kids think is cool for being in a skate punk band all these years.  Don’t believe the hype.  I know I’m not cool.  I’m a dad.  We’re not supposed to be.  

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