I’ve got to admit to a case of sour grapes here. I’m always impressed by people whose market savvy so outweighs their insight. Meanwhile, I’m always coming up with ideas that, looking back, could have made a million dollars or at least a splash on the cultural radar if I ever actually tried to promote them.
Today’s banal news update highlights a new book by journalist Neal Pollack about the experience of raising a child. States the Oregonian,”As an alternadad, Pollack has struggled with wanting to stay youthful himself, still plugged in to the ideals, music, and culture he loves, while also being a responsible parent.”
Wow! And I thought parents of previous generations automatically started started listening to Lawrence Welk, voting Republican, and spending weekends at the country club immediately upon giving birth!
What on earth does your musical taste have to do with your responsibility as a parent?
I don’t know where I precisely fit in on Pollack’s generational spectrum. He’s 35, so technically I could have been his mother, though as a (his words) “crunchy hippie” teenager, presumably an alternaparent. I had three children in the ’80s, a time when, believe it or not, there were also cool bands. But I also have a six year old, which means that I’m hanging out with a lot of parents who are around 35. “Of course having a tattoo is not mandatory,” concedes Pollack, but I do have one.
The word “alternative” has always appealed to me, just on principle. Once in the late 80s, living in suburban Long Island (probably the height of uncoolness) I walked into a Tower Records (no independent record stores on Long Island, sorry) and spied a category called “alternative”. Inside the rather small alternative file was a record by the Butthole Surfers. The name was gross. The music wasn’t that great. But the term “alternative”? I stood by the record counter, just to bask in its light. And there I was, with three children under seven.
Pollack is all proud that he took his son to see Modest Mouse before he turned two (not Mickey Mouse! Modest Mouse!) Whoopie-dink. My oldest daughter saw Simon and Garfunkel in Central Park before she turned one. My six year old, born way after my limited tolerance for Raffi had expired, has attended many a rock concert. His favorite performer is Mark Knopfler, but yes, he’s familiar with Modest Mouse and Sufjan Stevens, two musicians cited by Pollack as proof of coolness.
As for ideals, by the age of two my son had attended (sadly) so many antiwar rallies that he started walking around an airplance chanting “Not my President, Not my war”.
The truth is, you can like any kind of music you want, wear what you want, read what you want, and all of this is a matter of personal taste and has little to do with quality parenting.. Coolness is being comfortable in your own skin, not shifting corelessly as your social roles change, and not letting cultural boxes define you.
The other truth is that no matter how many cool bands you like, by the time your little child grows up, they’ll be relegated to the oldies station. No matter how “alternative” you think you are, the weight of parenthood, that ultimate responsibility for another human being, will alter you irrevocably, and a lot of those song lyrics and independent movies you once thought were so deep and meaningful are going to seem trivial and naive. And no matter how cool you still believe you are at that time, your teenager/young adult will not share that view. I guarantee it.
