How to Embarass Your Kids

One of the tough things about parenting – and there are many - is that kids expect you to act like a responsible grown up at all times. So when I recently got caught doing “the-kids-are-finally-in-bed” jig outside my oldest daughter’s bedroom, it was difficult for her to understand that this seemingly childish act does have some grown up significance. This dance is simply a visual reminder for my husband that we have approximately seven minutes to party it up before we fall asleep watching a rerun of “Life with Jim.”

As embarrassed as I was, it was even more disconcerting that the explanation, some foolishness about having a bug in my pants that was hardly believable, ate up an additional 2.5 minutes. And from the look of pure disgust on her face, my daughter was having none of it. According to a 10-year-old, there is absolutely no condition under which an adult, especially if it’s related to you, should engage in any sort of spontaneous activity that denotes joy. It’s just wrong.

Sometime between the ages of 9 and 11 we become cartoon characters to our children. It’s not that they don’t love us, we just repulse them. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact day it happened, but looking back I suppose there were a few subtle clues. For example, on the day I asked if she would like me to accompany her on a class camping trip, her response was fairly straightforward.

“No offense, Mom, but no one wants their mother (spoken as though it’s a dirty word) on a class trip.”

I’ll admit that I sing loudly, dance arbitrarily and have a habit of writing things in the newspaper that embarrass my family, but when did I become Marge Simpson?

I know I am not alone in feeling this way because so many of my friends are in the same sinking ship; we are revered one day and hideously revolting the next. Initially, it’s sort of fun to wake up and see which day it is. It’s immediately obvious since my daughter either reaches toward me for a hug as she gets out of bed or sneers in my direction and remarks that she can see my underwear over my pants because I wear them too high. But the underwear days are stacking up and so the fun is dwindling quickly.

I understand that this behavior is typical for this age; that it’s all part of the growing up process; it’s the separating and becoming your own person hoo-ha. I’m just wondering why my person has to become a freakish loser while my daughter’s person blossoms into a beautiful rose.

Here are just a few of the things I can no longer do, especially in public, according to both of my kids: A cartwheel or any other gymnastic stunt (they may have a point here), sing, dance, wear my pajama pants to run an errand, play a sport, discipline them, call them by a nickname, or dance naked on a table with a lampshade on my head. (The last one is not very likely but I thought I would throw it in just to keep them guessing.)

But I do remember a time when I was so much cooler than my kids. I worked at a hip radio station, went to cool concerts, met celebrities, and took fancy trips…all the while they were gurgling and pooping in their diapers. Now the tables have turned. Fortunately, I’m not pooping in a diaper – yet - but I am definitely becoming much less cool.

And I’m starting to be okay with that.

I figure that once you graduate to this stage, you can use your “un-cool self” as a sort of disciplinary tool. You can threaten your children with the possibility that you may show up somewhere, unannounced, and admit that you are the parent - like at a school dance, on a field trip or at that sleepover birthday party. And you just might be wearing a pair of hot pants and that AC/DC t-shirt that you haven’t been able to part with since the early 80s.

It’s a very effective parenting strategy, and one that has stood the test of time. Don’t you remember your parents embarrassing you? In fact, I’m heading out now to take my girls to Irish Step class and I just may offer up a little jig of my own in their honor. I figure it’s my right and obligation as a parent.

Erin Go Bragh!