A semester abroad? When do Mom and Dad get to do that?
We’ve decided to bar mitzvah the little guy, to provide him the bridge to manhood a 13-year-old boy requires at this critical stage of his life. Never mind that we’re not Jewish. That’s the sort of technicality that prevents cross-cultural understanding and appreciation.
So, I give you now the Irish-Italian-Ukrainian-American bar mitzvah. You are all invited. Don’t be late. The fistfights will start by the second hour. By the third hour, we’ll all be best buddies and singing rugby songs.
It’s a wacky idea for a wacky generation. Get any two random parents together and they will immediately be bonded by their frustration over today’s children. It’s like a club. Because almost all parents agree that:
- Today’s children spend way too much time on their devices.
- The little punks won’t look you in the eye.
- They are spoiled.
- As parents, we over-advocate for them, further spoiling them as we complain about them being spoiled.
- America was far better when kids took off on their bicycles early on Saturday mornings and didn’t return till sundown.
- Thanks to bicycles, we adults all turned out just fine (though there is concern over several of my buddies, including Bittner, Big-Wave Dave and my attorney, Billable Bob).
Who’s fault is all this – that we’ve spoiled a generation of kids? Look, I’m not here to assign blame. I’m here to plan a memorable bar mitzvah. How’s next Saturday looking? Mind if we use/abuse your nice backyard?
See, I’d like to have elephants. Posh has never really forgiven me for not maxing out the credit cards on parties when our children turned 2 or 3. At the park the other day, I spotted four bouncy houses, big as McMansions. Now, that’s a birthday party. Or, perhaps a bar mitzvah. Or, the sort of extraordinary wedding prospective young brides can only dream about.
Point is, I can’t blow this Irish-Italian-Ukrainian-American bar mitzvah. So there’ll be elephants, bouncy houses, Laker Girls and an outdoor movie. When I give the cue, 20 orangutans on mopeds will race through, firing bottle rockets at all the super-judgmental moms.
Never had a bar mitzvah myself. I grew up in the corn-scented northwestern suburbs of Chicago, where every other house was a Methodist church. The other houses were Dunkin’ Donuts shops. Back then, the bridge to manhood involved getting arrested for “over-celebrating” after a rare Chicago Cubs victory.
“Son, just come down off that fire escape with your hands up,” the Chicago cops would yell.
“Um, that seems like a good way to fall, officer.”
This particular bar mitzvah plan was triggered by a discussion with the little guy. He’d just taken our 300-pound beagle for a pony ride down the block, and texted me that the beagle left “a gift in Lauren’s yard,” implying that I should take care of the damage.
When he returned, we discussed this idea further. Round and round we went, during which my head split open like a gourd. If you’re a parent, you know exactly the moment I’m talking about.
“Man up!” I eventually yelled in frustration, “just man up!” waking Posh at the ungodly hour of 11 a.m.
From there, the day went downhill fast.
Hours later, I ran into our neighbors Yoli and Scott, while they were out walking their dog, Bruin. They were out wandering aimlessly, which is really catching on in our little town – walking without purpose or destination. Like other long-married couples, they were probably taking a break from a home life of sweaty passion and unbridled romance.
Anyway, Yoli reported that her older daughter, now at UCLA, will soon be taking off for a semester abroad.
This is another scam, and further evidence that our children are far smarter than we are. If you’re a parent, you know all too well how they have to spend junior year “studying” in Paris and Madrid. Technically, it helps them with a second language.
That second language is getting drunk and falling in love with stray European man-boys.
It is the scam of scams. With their silly music and Bieber haircuts, this generation of kids almost fooled us into thinking they didn’t have that much going on upstairs. But while we were busy doing their homework, or lining up expensive batting coaches, our children were in their bedrooms ordering their passports.
For these kids, bicycles were never good enough. To play outside, they required giant commercial aircraft.
Twitter: @erskinetimes
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