The Five Stages Of Shitting Your Pants

Here’s another one that didn’t have a home….

You’re alarm goes off and as usual you don’t get up until you’ve hit snooze at least six or seven times. Now you’ve got barely any time to get ready and certainly no time to make breakfast so you settle for leftover KFC and instant coffee. You proceed to chug both down like their going out of style as you jump in your rolling shitbox and hit the gas. You manage get to work on time, but at what cost? The grease from the KFC has lubricated your colon and the coffee is donkey punching you in the bowels. You rush to the bathroom but on the way you decide to let out a little gas to relieve the pressure…..only it’s more than a fart.
Congratulations, you’ve shit your pants! Now are you going to go home like a little sissy wimp and ask mommy to get you some fresh undies, or are you going to power through the day like a fierce warrior deity and make those soiled drawers your bitch?
Well since you’re not the one writing this scenario…

Step 1 Denial: As you take the walk of shame back to your cubicle there is a good chance that anyone with a nose (or in the case of Frank the custodian a nose hole) is going to catch a whiff of your sour trousers and start pointing fingers (or in Frank’s case, nubs) at you. Your best course of action at this point is to pretend that you have no idea what anyone is talking about. Play it off like you don’t notice the mixture of feces and sweat permeating the air. “What smell? Oh THAT smell, I have no idea. My new cologne maybe? Is my new cologne made of dog turds? Yeah Tom, it is. Do you feel smart now? You feel like a smart guy?”. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you deny it after a while even the dimmest crayon in the deck is going to realize that the bog of eternal stench is localized solely withing a two foot radius of you at all times. So now it’s time for….

Step 2 Anger: Your pissed off, and rightly so! No one enjoys shitting their pants and if they do then they are probably into some weird Japanese fetish porn. You’re angry that you have to walk around with shit in your pants all day and you’re angry because you smell like you got raped by a septic tank. Don’t hold it in, let your anger burst forth like the fiery lava ejaculate of Vesuvius. Mad at your boss because you haven’t gotten a raise in years? Go give that jackass a taste of your poop fueled ire! Mad that Judy from accounting keeps turning you down whenever you ask her out? Well too bad! You’re a grown man who shits his pants at work, what do you expect? Everyone else you can yell at though. However there is a chance that yelling alone wont do anything…

Step 3 Bargaining : Most likely by now someone has called security because they are quite literally sick of your shit. In an attempt to maintain even a shred of your former dignity you’ll probably start pulling out your wallet and offering all your co-workers $10 not to tell anyone else that you crapped your pants. By the time security comes you’ll be down to the expired coupon for a free Junior Frosty that you had tucked away behind your license. You offer it to the nice security men if they will let you exit the building in a dignified manor to which they will reply by grabbing you by the arms and dragging you out into the hall and down the stairs. Once they get to the front door Security will unceremoniously throw you out onto your ass. Ass you lie there shivering from the cold and asphyxiating on smell of your own waste…..

Step 4 Depression: By now you are probably so depressed that you’re quickly scanning the ground around you for anything sharp with which to sever your own jugular. How did your life come to this? Losing your job and any self respect you had because you have the intestinal control of a twitchy toddler with a belly full of Mexican food, walking around smelling worse than Swamp Thing on free Laxative day at the park. You’ll probably forever be known as The Fool Who Shat His Pants or TFWSHP so you might as well end it right here and now right? Not so fast, don’t start sawing at your neck with that ragged spoon just yet Paul Bunyan junior. Hold your tenuous grip on reality just a little bit longer because next comes….

Step 5 Acceptance : So you shit your pants, who hasn’t? We’ve all had that night of heavy drinking or that bout with food poisoning. We’ve all had that little trickle of chocolate syrup slowly make it’s way down our crack all the while smearing itself against the back of our underpants. No one likes to talk about the time that they’ve spent on skid row but anyone who tells you that they haven’t been there is a lying, commie bastard. Having the Hershey squirts is as American as apple pie. So don’t feel bad. Sure your underwear has gone from white to Khaki but wear those downtown browns with pride! Stand up tall and fan the rotting stench of decay that’s slowly bubbling up from your backside away as you proudly declare : “I shit my pants today AND I’M PROUD!”

Then go home and wash your ass and put on some clean underpants you filthy animal. Seriously, what kind of disease addled, degenerate mind thinks it’s a good idea to walk around all day with shit stains in their pants just because a humorous piece on the internet told them to do it? You’re disgusting.

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Which 80’s Slasher Makes The Best Wingman?

This is something I wrote for another site that never got published…enjoy!


Pictue it, it’s last call at whatever club or bar you dragged yourself to this Friday.  As you’re getting ready to go home alone… AGAIN, you can’t help but wonder if you would have had better results with a wing man. Then, because you’re a dork, you wonder which classic slasher movie icon would make the best wing man (no wonder you’re going home alone). Well wonder no more! I take important questions such as these seriously and as such have done an exhaustive analysis of each slasher and their strengths and weaknesses pertaining to the club scene. So let’s find out who’s “dead” on the dance floor and who “kills” when it comes to the ladies.


Freddy Krueger – AKA The Springwood Slasher

Pros: Freddy can be a funny guy and women like a guy who can make them laugh.

Women also love a guy with a tragic back story and Freddy‘s got that in spades. Once he opens up about his horrible childhood the chicks will be falling over each other to comfort him. Slip in a couple anecdotes about your less then stellar upbringing and the girls will be trying to nurse you both back to health like a couple of birds with broken wings.

Cons: Until Freddy starts calling them bitches and referring to them as meat. Yeah Freddy’s not the most respectful guy when it comes to women and that’s going to be a major turn off to most girls. Couple that with the fact that most of Freddy’s humor comes from one liners and puns and you’ve got a guy who wears out his welcome pretty quickly.

Bottom Line: Chances are that after a few drinks, the waterworks turn on and Freddy starts whining about how he never knew his dad. There’s a big difference between damaged and pathetic. Plus the dudes face looks like melted hamburger. Not a great choice of wing man.


Leatherface – AKA Jed Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt

Pros: Leatherface isn’t much of a free thinker so he’s definitely going to follow your lead and do whatever you say. Leatherface is very much like Lenny in Of Mice And Men, a little, shall we say touched? Pretending that he’s your mentally challenged brother or cousin will get you lot’s of sympathy with women. They will admire your willingness to take care of him and if you’re smart you’ll throw in a few tears and a “It’s just so hard sometimes”. Play it right and you’ve got yourself a ticket to Pantytown, population – You.

Cons: Look, throwing aside political correctness for a minute we all know that there are sweet lovable retards and then there are the retards that masturbate in public and eat their boogers. Leatherface is definitely a booger eating masturbater. He’s going to creep more chicks out than he draws in.

Bottom Line: Your best bet is to hook a woman as quick as you can and then get out of there before her sympathy turns to repulsion. If you can ditch Leatherface in the process, even better. Tell him some dude in the bathroom said his chainsaw was bigger or something.


Jason Voorhees –

Pros: Jason is the strong silent type and chicks just eat that up. Much like Freddy he also has a tragic back story but unlike hamburger face he isn’t going to cry about it all night. Jason has an air of mystery about him that will make girls curious. Also, he doesn’t eat or drink anything so you’re saving money.

Cons: Jason doesn’t talk much, as in at all, so you’re going to have to do all the talking.

Also he’s bound to smell pretty grody, like stale lake water and rotting flesh. Your chances of getting him to bathe before you go out are practically nil, he’s not a fan of water. You better hope the straps to that hockey mask are pulled tight because if that thing slips off, game over. One look at his rotted maggot infested puss is enough to send every girl in the joint running. Doesn’t dance.

Bottom Line: You better hope you find a nice tee-totaling virgin to take home, otherwise the next time you run to the bathroom to take a leak you’ll come back to find the skank you were chatting up impaled on a machete. Jason won’t say whether he did it or not, but we both know it was him.


Pinhead – AKA Elliot Spencer

Pros: Pinhead is a smooth talker, if you are into goth chicks or S&M you are going to be in heaven. Once Pinhead starts expounding upon the virtues of pleasure and pain and the nature of heaven and hell he’ll have his hooks into all the freaky chicks in the club….

Cons: Literally. Pinhead is a little too hardcore when it comes to the S in S&M. If you’re not into pain, too frigged bad. Pinhead is liable to turn any girls you’re interested in, into cenobites – physically twisted, gnarly abominations that reside in hell under his command.

Bottom Line: Pinhead will cock block you to the extreme. You’re best bet is to not bring him out in the first place but if you already made that mistake, try and close his stupid puzzle box as fast as you can before you get you’re skin ripped off and your nipples pierced.


Michael Myers –

Pros: Michael is a strong silent type much like Jason, However if Micheal’s mask comes off he’s got a normal looking face so he isn’t going to repulse any of the ladies.

Cons: Back story isn’t sympathetic, killed sister for no reason, trying to kill other sister for other no reason. Michael’s eyes are the devils eyes and his creepy staring will scare off any potential babes. Only kills hot young women…just like the ones you are looking to bang. He’s also got a scruffy old man following him around, total buzz kill.

Bottom Line: Myers should be left in the asylum where he belongs. He doesn’t do well around girls. As soon as the clothes come off, the knife comes out. And not his penis knife, a “knife” knife, in case there was any confusion.


Chucky- AKA Charles Lee Ray, The Lakeshore Strangler

Pros: He’s cute. The chicks are going to dig every corny one liner that comes out of his mouth because it’s always funnier when it comes from a toy/puppet/child. Have you seen the movie Ted? Chucky is Ted in this situation. All the girls are going to be fawning over him and he can be as nasty as he wants. They’ll just laugh it off with a “Oh, Chucky! You’re so bad.” Also, you’ll get major sensitivity points for being comfortable enough with your masculinity to own a doll.

Cons: Well, he is married but doll matrimony isn’t recognized in any state but Arkansas so stay out of Little Rock and you’re all set.

Bottom Line: We have a winner! Though he may fall behind his slasher movie peers when it comes to body counts or over all scariness, Chucky would make the perfect wing man. If you can manage to snag a hot single mother then that’s even better. Chucky will get to play hide the soul with little Tommy or Suzy which leaves you free to play hide the wiener with mommy. And not a hot dog weiner but your penis weiner, in case there was any confusion.

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Sleep In Your Own Damn Bed!

My wife and I have a small bed. It’s really only big enough for two people. Throw a baby into the mix and you have to be a contortionist to get comfortable.  This is why I prefer for the baby to sleep in his crib but like most things in life I seldom get what I want.
When Grayson was born my wife decided to go the breastfeeding route.
“Oh that’s great!” you’re thinking, “it’s more natural and it’s better for the baby”. Yeah, no. What it is is cheaper than formula, all the other stuff is secondary.
Now one of the temptations of breastfeeding is for the mother and baby to fall asleep together. That way if the kid wakes up in a few hours you can just latch him or her back on and fall back to sleep. No muss, no fuss. Except again, tiny bed.
My wife pumps a lot so that I can feed Grayson when I’m watching him. This is perfect at night because I feed him sitting up so that I don’t fall asleep. Once he passes out I put him in his crib….where he promptly wakes up. So I take him out and wear him down until he passes out again. I can’t just let him cry because I live with my in laws and it’s not fair to them. Plus my wife has to get up at five so she needs her sleep.
So Grayson and I battle it out until he’s too tired to resist the crib. This might be 10:30, Midnight or like the other night 1:34 AM. I’m determined to get him to sleep in his own damn bed. I was winning the war until my wife took her vacation.
On her vacation she wanted to feed bubs from the bubbies as much as she could rather than have me bottle feed him. Fine. Except that tweedle G and tweedle Mom kept falling asleep together. I try to move him, he wakes up. I want to give him a bottle so I can put him to bed but she says no I’ll feed him. They fall asleep. I can’t win.
So the whole week mom and dad and baby makes three…in the bed. Finally she goes back to work but it’s like I’ve lost all the progress I made with Grayson. So I start over. Hence the 1:30 AM zonk out. Oh well, no one said parenting would be easy.

Besides, who could stay mad at those cuties?

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I’m Back!

Hey guys and gals,

Long time no write. I’ve been busy trying to build up my writing resume by writing a lot of stuff for other sites and I fear that I have neglected my Dadventures duties. Worry not though constant readers, I have returned to you with new tales of child rearing!   The baby is no longer too fat to crawl. Grayson is now able to heft is gelatinous gut off of the floor and get up on his hands and knees. Unfortunately, a mobile baby is a dangerous baby. Gone are the days when I could just abandon the child on the floor with the Mickey Mouse Club and then go off and make a coffee and smoke a cigarette. Now I have to actually watch what he’s doing, what’s going into his mouth, what he’s managed to get himself stuck under. This parenting crap has turned into a full-time job.

On the older kid front, the teen and the tween cannot seem to breathe the same air without fighting about it. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Literally everything one does pisses the other one-off. “Jacob, stop singing, I hate your voice!” “Michael, stop throwing lit matches at me!”. But of course when I suggest that one of them  move away from each other they don’t. In fact, their mother and I decided that it might be good to take each kid separately for a week at a time this summer to get them away from each other. They both expressed their disdain for this idea quite vocally, “But, we want to be together!”. Brothers: can’t stand to be together, can’t stand to be away from each other.

Welp, I hope anyone following this blog didn’t leave due to lack of activity. I promise to try and write here more frequently. However if you find yourself jonesing for a ZackAttack, might I suggest you try reading some of these other articles that I have written for other sites?




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Sins Of The Father

Middle children. We all know one, have one or are one. Never regarded as highly as the firstborn, never spoiled as much as the baby, middle children seem to exist in a perpetual limbo willing to do anything to get noticed. My son Jacob has been a middle child since before his mother or I even had a third kid. He always just exuded this also ran aura despite not being treated that way by either of his parents. I don’t write much about my older children. It just seems like I can get more comedy out of the baby. I did write one blog post about Michael which inadvertently makes what I said about Jacob being a middle child all the more true.
Jacob is a complicated nut to crack. He can at times be the sweetest,  most loving child with heart of gold. Other times he can be one of the darkest, coldest people that I’ve ever met. All of my children inherited certain traits from me but Jacob seems to be cursed with all of my worst qualities both genetically and behaviorally.  He’s overweight, sarcastic and he has asthma and allergies. Did I mention mental illness?
I assumed for years that my depression and self loathing was a direct result of my upbringing. My anxiety?  I was just a nervous kid. When Jacob started exhibiting signs of the same neural maladies that I myself suffer from, I was forced to acknowledge that they were more than likely genetic. Especially since I went out of my way to treat him better than my parents treated me. Have you ever heard a four year old tell you in a fit of tears that he wished that he never existed? It’s a horrible situation. Poor Jacob deserves better than to go through life saddled with my
Piss-poor genes. The only silver lining to the genetic shit cloud that I passed along was that he also inherited my sensitivity and creativity. Not that two good things make up for the slew of bad. Am I being too hard on myself? Maybe,  but knowing that you’ve passed any disease onto your kids, be it physical or mental, is a shitty feeling.
I have a brother with far worse mental issues than I: schizophrenia, bipolar , psychosis just to name a few. About eight years ago he got a vasectomy, his reasoning was that he never wanted to have children in case he passed along his illnesses. I always admired the maturity and responsibility behind that decision. I sometimes wonder if I should have taken the same step. Was it fair of me to have children knowing that there was a good chance that I’d screw them up?  Do all parents screw up their kids to some degree? I’m far too selfish to not have had them. Your own little people that have to love you unconditionally, what depressive, self loather could pass that up? If I hadn’t had the older two, especially Jacob, I never would have survived my divorce. My children became my only source of affection for four long years.
I’m doing my best for Jake, I understand his feelings, his anxieties his sadness more than anyone else in his life. Still it can’t help but ring hollow in my own ears every time I tell him that he should be proud of himself, that he’s not a bad kid and that he should love himself. I know he’ll never quite feel that way. Many people have told me the same things many times and it never helps, never changes anything. I won’t ever give up trying though. As a parent and as a friend,  I’ll continue to try and combat the effects of the losing ticket to the genetic lottery that my son is forced to keep in his back pocket for the rest of his life.
I realize that this post is different in tone from most of the stuff I write in this blog. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. It’s hard to write anything funny and upbeat at 1:00am. Any thoughts that occur after midnight are usually somber ,soaked in regret and shrouded in darkness.
As my eyes grow weary and start to close all I can think of is how much I love that kid and one day, if I say it enough times he’ll have to believe it. Until then I’ll just keep trying.


My sweet baby...he'll always be my baby no matter how big he gets.

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Too Fat To Crawl

Recently Grayson discovered how to get off the bed. Basically he rolls onto his stomach, pivots until his feet are hanging over the side and just kind of throws himself back until gravity takes over. This also works for the couch.
I admire his ingenuity but there’s one big problem: once he reaches the floor he doesn’t know what to do. This kid is so close to crawling that it’s killing me. He moves his legs, he moves his arms, he just can’t get his gut off the floor. It would be cute if it wasn’t so sad. My baby is too fat to crawl. Its not his fault,  he has my genes I just didn’t expect his belly to hamper his mobility until at least six or so.
It’s not just his belly either. The rolls on his arms and legs make him look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I’ve tried not feeding him but he just cries until I do. I asked my wife about switching him to low fat breast milk but she just gave me that look that she gives me whenever I fart in bed.
Maybe eventually his arms will be strong enough push that sumo belly up and off the floor but he’ll probably be walking by then, making crawling moot.
On the plus side all that padding means he doesn’t get to beat up when he does fall off the  bed.


Look at that fatty, food smeared on his face...

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Revenge Poop

Sometimes a bowel movement is so epic it needs to be forever preserved in print for future generations to marvel over. Today I witnessed such a bowel movement.
My wife was feeding the baby, I was eating breakfast all was right with the world.
Grayson gave a little grunt and a little toot and suddenly our world was thrown into a swirling vortex of chaos. This kid somehow managed to fire his colon cannon at such an angle that it flew right through the space between his diaper and his leg and landed on the couch…and my wife’s leg….and the babies leg…and the babies other leg. This was seriously the most explosive blast of liquid nastiness that I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. I quickly took the little poop monster upstairs in order to clean the feces from his person. Along the way there were more casualties. My shirt got smeared with baby shit, some dripped onto the bathroom floor. I don’t know how a child that small could hold what appeared to be at least a gallon of shit inside his little tummy but somehow he did. The worst part? The little son of a bitch was smiling the whole time. I know, I know, a child of four months old can’t just decide to crap all over everything just to screw with Mom and Dad, but if a shark can follow a family from the east coast to the west in order to get revenge than an infant can poop on purpose. Okay so using Jaws The Revenge probably wasn’t the most sound way to get my point across but it was the first thing I thought of.

This time it's personal, the other times? That was just business.

This time it’s personal, the other times? That was just business.

So what would my four-month old son possibly want to get revenge for? Well, I may have given him a small ice chip to suck on yesterday just to see what how he would react and he may have made the funniest face ever and I may have laughed at him. If I had it all over to do again, shit or no shit, I still would. The kid really did make the funniest face like “Oh my god it’s so cold! What do I do? Oh it’s not cold anymore….” a perfect mixture of horror and perplexity. I regret nothing.

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A Belated Happy Mothers Day

Happy Mothra’s day!


Yeah, that’s a pun. It did quite well on Facebook sunday when I originally posted it in honor of Mother’s Day.

Mother’s day, contrary to what people would have you believe, was not created by the Greeting Card companies but by Anna Jarvis around 1910. In 1914 Woodrow Wilson made it a national holiday. THEN the greeting card companies, as well as the florists turned it into another commercial obligation to buy their wares. Apparently as early as nine years after she created it, Jarvis was fighting Mother’s Day’s commercialization and she even went on to regret starting it in the first place. Am I being a Mother’s Day Scrooge? Is this blog post going to be about how I don’t think we need a day to tell us when to call our mothers? Nope. Not at all, quite the opposite. The truth is that while many people would like you to believe that they tell their Mother how great she is all the time and that they resent being told when to do so (these are usually the people who hate Valentines Day as well.) many of them are to be blunt, WRONG. How often do you actually visit your mother? Chances are, if you’re an adult with a spouse and kids of your own, not that often or rather, not as often as she would like. Now how often when you visit your mother do your kids spend most of the time with her? How often while you are there do you just kind of sit in front of the tv and shoot the shit? How often do you mostly talk about whats new with you or the kids and what’s going on in your life? Now here’s the $64,000 question: When you visit/call/email/Skype your mother, how often do you say thanks? Not just “I love you” but thanks? Or “I appreciate you” ?. Probably not a lot, huh?

See, most mothers (and I’m saying most because just like father’s, kids, aunts and uncles, there are some rotten ones out there) made the decision to become mothers knowing full well that they were entering into a thankless job without retirement benefits. Kids as I have mentioned before are on the whole selfish. I don’t mean that slag them off or anything ( regular readers should know by now that I obviously love kids) but think of it as a survival instinct that stayed around into modern society. Children care about themselves above and beyond anyone else because it’s an act of self-preservation. As such they don’t care so much that mom works all day at the office or in some cases that mom works two jobs to put food on the table, they just care that food is there when they want it, and that there are video games and a computer to go on after dinner. Most mothers don’t put up a stink about their lack of recognition because that’s not what they are raising kids for. They’re not doing it for praise or to constantly have their butts kissed, or to even be thanked for pulling a double shift. And it’s because they don’t put up a stink about it that we sometimes forget that our mothers aren’t super awesome robots that run on no sleep and require no food and live only to serve. Mother’s are unfortunately as human as the rest of us. As such, they require praise and a pat on the back occasionally as well. They need to be told that they’re doing a good job or get to sleep in or even just taken out to lunch every once in a while. Mother’s Day reminds us of that. If you’re a perfect son or daughter and you treat your mom like a queen  most of the time, good for you. If you’re like the rest of us, at the very least you remember to pamper mom one day a year.

In my opinion Mother’s Day isn’t just some useless greeting card holiday but a day that actually does a lot of good.


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The Truth About School Concerts

Last night I dutifully attended my son Jacobs chorus concert with my wife and the baby. Despite the fact that my in laws would have been more than happy to watch Grayson for us, we chose to bring him anyway: he was part of the plan. An infant is the perfect tool to allow you to slip out of any function or social gathering that you are obligated to show up at but that you really want to leave as quickly as possible. Case in point: we got to the school, we made small talk with my ex, we sat through the ten minutes that the 5th grade was on stage and then we got the hell out of Dodge. No one questioned it because everyone knows how needy babies are. The fact that Grayson was being perfectly content and had eaten not that long ago was irrelevant.
I have a confession to make: I hate going to my kids sporting events and concerts. I will go of course, to show support for my children but I don’t have to enjoy it. I sound like a monster right? Please, no parents like going to these things they just don’t admit it. There’s a reason that they don’t put 8yr old playing baseball on TV, It’s as boring as watching shit dry. Seriously, little uncoordinated children running around after balls and tripping all over each other is not anyone’s idea of entertainment. The same goes for the concerts, 5th graders sing like 5th graders. They either look down at their shoes and warble off key or mumble softly to themselves in a barely audible fashion. No one is there because they want to be. If you didn’t have any kids, would you spend a night going see a little league game or watching a bunch of tweens badly reenact Glee? Of course you wouldn’t.
I go out of obligation but also because I’m investing in the future. I figure that if I sit through enough of these things when the kids suck, it will encourage them to keep doing it so that one day, maybe in High School, maybe in College, I’ll go to a recital or a concert and enjoy what I’m hearing. I have no doubt that both my kids are talented (the jury is still out on the baby) and one day that talent is going to shine through on a stage or screen. But for now I’m forced to endure the boring stuff they do. But that’s what smart phones are for right?


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May The Fourth Be With You

As a parent I know that one of my duties is to expose my children to Star Wars at an early age. Ok fine, as a GEEK parent I know that one of my duties is to expose my children to Star Wars at an early age. Ever since I can remember I’ve been a fan of that Galaxy far, far away. Some of my earliest memories are going to the video store (remember those? ) and renting the Star Wars films on VHS (remember those?).
Eventually my parents wised up and bought me the trilogy one xmas. 
My experience with Star Wars was bittersweet. I relished any opportunity to wave around a stick and make wooshing noises or to hold that same stick sideways and pew pew everything in sight. And oh the toys! I had action figures of every major player and several people and aliens that were on screen for mere seconds. I felt self conscious playing the Star Wars role-playing game at school during lunch. I winced with every roll of the dice wishing I was smart enough not to bring my obsessions out in public but knowing that I would always wear my geekiness, however awkward, on my sleeve for the world to judge.
And judge they did. Geek and nerd fandoms are in vogue right now but it wasn’t so long ago that reading comics would get you the stink eye from adults and laughter and cold hearted jeers from the “normal” kids.
So what does all this have to do with my kids? Well we all want our kids to enjoy the same things we do in fact at a very early age all our kids interests are dictated by us as they have neither the drive nor the opportunity to seek out other interests on their own. Some things stick. Some they leave behind when crafting their own identity. When my older boys were younger I bombarded them with Star Wars toys and clothes, videogames and of course movies. Some things were hits,  the videogames particularly the Lego ones did well. Some things didn’t do as well, the action figures got played with but not as much as I would have liked.
As the kids got older they developed their own interests. Michael is obsessed with Japan (manga, anime, sushi) and Jacob is into computers and Sonic the Hedgehog. Sure, they still “like” Star Wars but nowhere near as much as dear old dad.
And that’s the lesson I guess. Your children start out as fresh lumps of clay that you hope to mold into your own image but somewhere along the way they start sculpting themselves and the image starts straying from the original blueprint.
I now have a chance to do it all over again with Grayson. Though I know that ultimately he will grow up to like his own stuff….
I can’t help but introduce him to the classics.

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