Storytelling

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Lost In Translation: “No Way, Bug! Get In The Cheese!”

April 26, 2013 at 7:43 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

You are in the stage now where you’re piecing together catch phrases you hear Mommy and I say and incorporating them into your observations conversation.

Yesterday as I drove you home from school, I guess there was a gnat or something flying around you. This is what I heard:

“No way, bug! Get in the cheese!… You’re in trouble. No ma’am! Just chill out. Go find a home.”

From there, your conversation with the bug went from 2nd person perspective to 3rd person narration:

“The bug needs to find his parents. They hold him. They take care of him. That’s weird.”

I’m still a little confused about the cheese part. Do you want bugs to live inside of cheese wedges? Is that where they usually call their home?

The part I understand most from your conversation with/about the bug is this: The bug has a home where he belongs; where he has a Daddy and Mommy who love him.

Thanks, Son. That’s sweet of you to assume the bug’s parents love him the way Mommy and I love you.

I love your backseat radio show. That’s how I’m starting to think of it now.

In particular, I thought your rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” was pretty creative:

“Twinkle, twinkle, purple monster truck…”.

As you would say, “That’s weird.”

 

Love,

Daddy

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How To Market To An “Unmarketable” Generation Y Dad

April 25, 2013 at 7:27 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

Honestly, I can’t remember the last decade I bought any product because of an ad I saw.  Yet still, I buy things… am I unknowingly responding to ads anyway?

Even though I consider myself an unmarketable Generation Y (born in 1981 or later) dad, I will buy products based on the principles a company stands for, like Annie’s Homegrown andChobani, and I privately boycott their competitors; because publicly banning is officially uncool.

(Hint: Social justice is especially a major selling point to Generation Y.)

With that being said, I easily parted with $4.24 today on a product other than food or gas:

I bought you your first Monster Jam monster truck today. I just couldn’t contain myself!

Why did I part with a 5 dollar bill of my blow money today? Did you do something special? Did you earn it somehow?

Nope.

Other than firmly standing behind the moral principles of a company, another way to market to a stubborn dad like me is to make me believe that I am bonding with and/or teaching my child by buying the product; especially when laced in 1980′s nostalgia. (Dads love to teach their kids lessons!)

(Plus, it helps the company to lavish in the fact that I’m not a doofus dad like traditional commercials portray me, like in this Robitussin commercial.)

Well done, Hot Wheels Monster Jam monster trucks. I could have bought the vegan spring rolls at Whole Foods, but no, I bought my son a purple monster truck named King Kraze.

When I took a minute to dissect my thought process in buying you that purple monster truck, I realized that I believe the toy reinforces the masculine play time that you and I share… even when I’m not actually playing with you.

For example, I know that you will be taking King Kraze with you to bed, to dinner, and whenever you’re in the car. My spirit lives on in you through that toy. Sure, I know that sounds ridiculous, but I’m standing by it. Plus, I wanted your purple 1983 Chevy Silverado lowrider to have a friend. (Standing behind that strange comment as well.)

Yes, I love making you happy. But… I’m willing to admit I also like making small financial investments in things that encourage you to be a loud, messy, crazy, little boy.

A purple monster truck, I believe, helps do that.

So, in review, a stubborn, penny pinching, Dave Ramsey following, Generation Y dad like me will magically buy a product for his son if he believes that…

A) the company that makes the product is morally superior (not simply superior in quality) and/or B) that the product will reinforce the traditional ideas and principles that remind him of his own 1987 version of childhood and/or C) the company makes it clear that dads are helpful and important, not idiots.

Well, I guess there is a “D” too:

D) Get my cool guy friends on Facebook to talk about and post pictures of themselves with their son using the product and/or “like” the company on Facebook and have that company acknowledge those Generation Y dads’ somewhat indirect help in guerilla marketing, because Generation Y like to feel their input matters to helping a company with its marketing and sales tactics. (Twitter is the relevant social media hang-out spot for Generation X, not Y.)

But in order to make that happen, A through C probably already apply. Yeah, I’m a hard sell.

 

Love,

Daddy

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Broken Branches On The Family Tree

April 24, 2013 at 1:28 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

Two weeks ago we visited my grandma, Lola Mendez Metallo, in the assisted living complex. She told us a story I had never been made aware of.

When her own grandmother was only 15 years old, on the way home from church, she was kidnapped by a widowed man who already had 4 children; being forced to become his wife and have children with him.

One of those children born to her was my grandma’s father.

My grandma explained that sort of thing wasn’t uncommon in Michoacán, Mexico back in those days.

It’s a dark story, and a strange part of our family tree.

I also know that your great-grandmother on Mommy’s side came to America from Ireland, as an indentured servant.

That couldn’t have been too awesome.

However, the fact that our family tree contains “broken branches” is nothing unique to our family. Climb any family tree in America, and it won’t take long to find some less than perfect situations which eventually led to modern day.

You and I also share Native American blood. I’m sure there’s an interesting story somewhere with that too. By interesting, I mean less than desirable.

It seems most old movies about the Wild West conveniently portray “the Americans” as the good guys and “the Indians” as the bad guys. (Accidental racist?)

I think about this stuff. Our family tree consists of both oppressors and victims.

While it’s easy to be removed from the reality that our ancestors had to experience because it was so long ago, if it weren’t for their hardships, we wouldn’t be here today. Their lives were just as real as ours are now.

Even just to think: Mommy was born as the 9th child of her family. How few American households in 1981 had a 9th child born?

The fact that Mommy was ever born is a rare enough situation to try to grasp.

You’re not here by accident, son. You are part of this universe for a purpose.

 

Love,

Daddy

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The Compartmentalization Of A Little Boy’s Brain

April 23, 2013 at 10:49 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

I am told on a weekly basis, by family members, by friends, by co-workers, and readers, that I am a very “black-and-white, cut-and-dry” person; that there is no gray with me.

It’s as if I put every situation and event in it’s own compartment in my brain; as if historyalways repeats itself.

Maybe that’s part of the reason I’m a vegan. All or nothing, right?

Maybe that’s why I make a living by discovering performance formulas for my company to help them become more efficient.

I look at what does work, separate it from what doesn’t work, then check for reoccurring patterns.

Sure, I realize the world isn’t categorized in perfectly organized compartments, but I work to help make it that way as much as possible.

Son, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be a lot like me in those regards. In fact, I’m pretty sure you already are that way.

Sunday afternoon as Mommy was preparing dinner, you got upset because she wasn’t able to play trains with you like I was. After about 90 seconds of a breakdown because you couldn’t stand to be playing without her though she was only 10 feet away, I had to take action.

You and I went upstairs to play. You had to be moved out of the compartment of “Mommy, play with me!” to “Me and Daddy are playing like boys!”

By the time we stepped into your room, you were fine with Mommy being downstairs… in a “different compartment.”

The base of our papasan rocking chair broke, only leaving the dome-shaped seat part intact.

As I spun you around and quickly swayed you, it magically became a yellow submarine, a monster truck, and a horsey.

Together, you and I were loud, rough, and technically violent in our Daddy-son compartment.

You stripped yourself down to your pro-wrestler/superhero attire, which is a diaper and nothing else.

But once Mommy entered the room, you became a different little boy; a little boy who wanted to read and wear clothes, not play.

I’ve also noticed that everyday when I drop you off at school, you get quiet the moment I hand you over to your teacher, not speaking or showing emotion again until after I’m out of sight.

Different compartments.

Who knows? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m drawing too many conclusions; because after all, I’ve already established that I look for patterns and formulas in everything.

Maybe little girls can just as easily be the same way. I wouldn’t know about that; no history to build on since you don’t have a sister.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

 

 

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For The 1st Time, Getting A Babysitter For My 2 Year-Old

April 20, 2013 at 7:23 pm , by 

2 years, 5 months.

Dear Jack,

Sharing a birthday with Adolf Hitler typically means I expect bad things to happen on or around April 20th: The Oklahoma City bombing, the Columbine school shooting, and this week, the Boston Marathon bombing.

Today on my 32nd birthday, I find comfort in knowing that both of the suspects of the Boston Marathon bombing were caught and captured.

On the lighter side of things, for my birthday today… I’m trying to think of a… more masculine… way to say it…

Mommy took me on a much needed clothes shopping spree!

Half the clothes in my closet were from before I met Mommy in 2006, while the other half were bought nearly 5 years ago when we got married. A lot of my clothes are either worn out, out of style, or simply sloppy and baggy.

I let Mommy be my guide, picking out what looks good on me, not what I think looks good on me. Left to my own demise, I would end up picking out clothes that were all blue, and of course, baggy and sloppy.

As for you, some friends from our church watched you in their home. This marks the first time ever in your 2 years and 5 months of existence that we’ve had anyone other than family watch you while you were awake.

Needless to say, it went very well. They sent me the picture above while were Mommy and I were at Old Navy.

Granted, you were pretty psyched about the whole event to begin with. You could barely contain yourself as we unbuckled you from your car seat to take you into their home:

“Hi Nelda, look: I brought my purple truck!”

By the time we picked you up about 2 and a half hours later, we found you kicked back on the recliner with Stan, Nelda’s husband, watching the NASCAR race.

So I would say your first babysitting experience by a non-family member, while you were awake, went quite well.

As a treat for you, we brought you home some Thomas the Train “big boy” underwear.

Hint, hint… don’t you want to start going potty so you can wear them the right way, instead of on your head?

 

Love,

Daddy