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(Continued from NEO CLASSISM PT. 3)
Believe it or not, there are times that I am slightly conflicted about the bonding time and life lessons my son Ethan and I share. As I’ve never bothered to read actual parenting books nor bother soliciting the opinion of ‘experts’ like licensed family therapists or health care professionals in these matters, I instead rely on the trusty advice gleaned from frazzled mommy bloggers or the Psychic Friends Network. Each of these invaluable ‘sources’ encourages me to ‘go-with-what-you-know’ when trying to figure out what activities to do with one’s children or the sagacious advice one hopes to pass on.
Why only last week, I decided to cure my son’s snobbery and elitism by demonstrating the profound difference between a hand-made $8,000 Brioni suit usually bought by the super rich, and an off-the-rack, machine-made, dogshit, $1,800 Dolce and Gabbana suit that ‘normal’ people are forced to purchase. As I power walked through the cavernous men’s department at Sakes dragging Ethan by the hand towards the Brioni boutique, he glanced up at me, and out-of-the-blue asked if I preferred the Los Angeles Dodgers to the New York Yankees. I was caught slightly off guard, as I had at that moment been patiently explaining to a bored-looking Ethan the importance of buying on sale versus paying retail.
The Dodgers or the Yankees? How should I know? The closest I ever get to the sport of baseball is when I wear a raggedy ass baseball cap on my head because my hair looks like shit. ”Um…I like the Dodgers,” I respond weakly.
Ethan gives me a piteous look. ”I like the Yankees. Alex Rodriguez’s RBIs were unbelievable this year, and I’m pretty sure his OBAs and SLGs are gonna gonna be great too!”
I stare at Ethan blankly. Who the fuck is Alex Rodriguez? Wasn’t Alex Rodriguez the ‘Culture Vulture’ from Queer Eye For The Straight Guy? You know, that guy who recently made a cameo as a news reporter in Lady GaGa’s Telephone video? I stare at Ethan dumbly and nod my head in agreement thinking that I might appear less faggy if I say nothing.
Undeterred, my son Ethan prods, “Daddy, why do you like the Dodgers? They’re OPBs and SLGs are way below average.”
OPBs, SLGs – what is he talking about?! Aren’t OPBs the heady, fabulous disco drugs that Liza Minelli, Halston and Biana Jagger scarfed down at Studio 54? As I rack my brain from some kind of cohesive answer, I’m rescued by a gay sales associate who seems baffled by the site of an old queen in a silk ascot conversing with the blond haired street urchin in a skull t-shirt.
(To Be Continued)
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