I yelled at 5-Year Old Daughter for no good reason. A minor infraction was committed. She didn’t do anything terribly wrong but I gave her a lecture anyway, mainly because I was in a mood to lecture someone. I immediately felt terrible, as I always do when I yell. I’m not someone who yells or raises his voice. When I see two people standing nose to nose shouting at one another, or someone walking down 6th Avenue screaming into a cell phone, I wonder how they’re able to navigate through life with all that broken circuitry.
Anyway, I apologized. I told her that I was wrong to yell and asked her if she would please forgive me. She said, “Yes, Pop. Here’s a forgiving kiss for you.” and she kissed me on the cheek. She’s 5! What do you do with a kid like that?! Jesus. It’s not fair. I don’t stand a chance.
Then, recently, this gem from her:
“We’re going to have a race. Coco and I will be on one team and you and S will be on the other team. Our team name is Team Evil. Your team can be either Team Love or Team Heart. Either one. It doesn’t matter. And look! I drew the skull from Monster High for our team!”
Man, that kid breaks my heart. I can’t bear the thought that hard times will befall her, as they do us all. Clearly, locking her in the basement isn’t the answer but how do I protect her?
Earlier this year, Jay-Z and Beyoncé had a daughter. They named her Blue Ivy. What do you suppose Jay-Z will do to the first man who raps about Blue Ivy being a bitch or a whore? Do you suppose he’s seen the light? Had an epiphany? Daughters rule.
NOT Debbie Harry. A little rusty on the lyrics. [Posted for the benefit of far-away Buckeye family lurkers.]
To prevent this from degenerating into a nauseating mommy/parent post, I beg your indulgence and offer a few interesting pics as penance. Here’s a fantastic Giacometti that’s in the sculpture garden at MoMA. Creepy. Stylish!
Last week we experienced the first few warm evenings of the spring season. Those of you in warm-weather climates can’t imagine the unbridled joy of being able to sit outside when the winter breaks. Hanging your jacket on the chair back and feeling the warm air on your skin is an absolute high. And that’s before you order a cold beer. I was on my way to a play at The Public down in the East Village and stopped off for a couple slices of pizza. I sat outside and was so mesmerized by the big parade walking up Second Avenue and turning onto St. Mark’s Place that I almost missed my curtain!