Pop Psychology

Lurking in my father’s extensive collection of brightly bound, annals of self-help was a slim primary hued volume entitled, “How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen.” I picked it up one day, while thumbing through the shelves, looking for an apocryphal, I-promise-I have-it-you-don’t-need-to-buy-it copy of Homer’s Iliad, because it was the only book about parenting he owned.

Though it would be several years before I began literally putting down the phone during one of my father’s lengthy monologues and coming back five, ten, fifteen minutes later to uh-huh in the affirmative and feign interest in the current manifestation of his existential crisis, I was already aware, at age sixteen, that “making the kids listen” was not one of dad’s strong points.

I remember a fleeting sense of wonder--Perhaps the optimistic professional was at fault—and dad’s idiosyncratic modes of discourse were prescribed by so and so PHD.

For example:

· Never call your child by his or her name, refer to them only as “buddy”

· Initiate conversations with earnest confessions of your emotional state—I’m feeling pretty vulnerable right now, buddy.

· Describe possible medical impediments, however remote, in gross and graphic detail—You know, my sinuses are way out of whack. According to the research I’ve done here at the house, the only explanation for the amount of phlegm I’m producing is either Cancer or Ebola. Suffice to say, buddy, the end is nigh.

· Ask really uncomfortable questions of your children—Perhaps I’d feel better if I masturbated more often. What are your thoughts?

<>· Evade future requests for financial assistance with enigmatic responses—Being wealthy as a child really fucked me up, you know, so this is sort of a gift to you, this poverty or Have you ever considered, with the way you spend money, that you might be addicted to an illegal drug? Or I think, maybe, instead of paying your tuition, I should spend twice as much to send you to Outward Bound, because in the long run, knowing how to cook macrobiotic fare over an open fire alone in the wilderness will really give you an edge on life that high school will not or simply Gee, that Miles Davis, he can blow the hell out of a horn, right buddy?

Sadly, How To Talk So Your Kids Will Listen offered little in the way of explanation. The advice given was clearly geared toward more conventional father figures—who would, say, notice if their teenage daughters stole their wallets and ran away-- with more conventionally rebellious offspring—who would, say run away to avoid matriculation at a highly-structured, conservative boarding school (as opposed to deliberately running away to ensure being sent to said institution).

What I did find were pages of interactive comic-book style exercises, where line drawings of teenaged offspring were shown asking typical questions or making disrespectful comments. The reader of the book was encouraged to fill in the parental balloons with his or her well studied responses.

In Diagram 2.1, a cartoon daughter asks her father: “Can I have five dollars for lunch?”

Dad’s scribbled response: “You hurt my soul”

Diagram 2.2, cartoon son, pouts and says: “I don’t care what you say. I’m going to do it anyway.”

Dad’s scribbled response: “Well, fuck you too.”

Diagram 2.3, cartoon daughter: “Dad, I’m pregnant.”

Dad’s response: “Why are you so fucking mean to me?”

<> Diagram 2.4, cartoon son: “I need some help with this assignment.”

Dad’s response: “You selfish bastard. Can’t you see I need my space?.”

“I think Dad has some issues,” I said.

My then eleven year old sister rolled her eyes without losing her place in “Cosmopolitan.”

“Duh,” she said.