Kids These Days

Are you responsible for a youth? If so, make sure you get him or her involved with youth sports as soon as possible.

Even if your youth is still in diapers, it’s not too early.

The recent story of a St. Louis-area junior league football coach illustrates why this is so important. During the post-game handshake line, the coach was caught on video violently shoving an 11-year-old player on the opposing team.

The player had apparently been mouthy and disrespectful. All highly trained child development specialists know a healthy shove is the best way to take care of that problem, so I don’t see why this is such a big deal.

But the over-protective parents are pressing charges, thus undermining the coach’s powerful message about sportsmanship.

The message you, as a parent, must take from this story is clear: other people know best how to raise your child.

Have you spent years studying child psychology and education, like all the genius football coaches have? Not likely.

Six or seven hours a day in school is not enough time away from your child. Make sure she or he is involved in enough structured activities to keep you free and clear of parenting responsibilities until well after dinner.

I should probably acknowledge that for every story in the media about some heroic coach or parent who beats up somebody else’s kid at a hockey game, there’s another coach or parent under the radar who doesn’t take things too seriously and just wants all the kids to have a positive experience.

This bleeding-heart approach makes me sick, but we shouldn’t let a few bad apples keep us from letting other people do what’s best for our children.

In his book “Hold On To Your Kids,” psychologist Gordon Neufield tells us that kids spend so much time away from parents these days that they develop stronger attachments to peers than to adults.

This realignment starts at a surprisingly young age and builds momentum.

To test this theory, ask any child over age 10 who is more important to them, parents or friends. Ask again once you get them to take out their “ear buds.” The eventual response is likely to be:

“Well, obviously, my parents are, like, the most – wait, somebody is texting me… Oh My God! Tara says Jamie totally posted some sick photos of herself on MySpace. She is, like, such a skank.”

Fifty years ago, teen suicide was usually traced to rejection by parents. Nowadays, it’s usually linked to rejection by peers. No wonder teen suicide rates have ballooned like a skyrocket through the roof.

Studies show that kids involved in sports are less likely to kill themselves, get pregnant, or become drug addicts.

I wasn’t able to find any studies about suicide or pregnancy rates of kids who spend a lot of quality time with their parents, so it’s safe to assume those kids are also offing themselves in record numbers.

This is a matter of life and death. I urge you to put your kids first. Instead of selfishly insisting that they be home in time for a family dinner and a game of Monopoly, let them spend all their time with other kids.

And when they finally do get home, ignore them and watch TV. They’ll thank you for it.

The Big Dumb Smile

Since my daughter was born 2½ years ago, countless imaginary people have asked me for advice on becoming a father.

Gather around, young fellas.

Now, if you think you would like to plant your seed inside a lady, you need to know what to expect.

Are you truly ready to sacrifice nearly all your sleep, free time, and peace of mind for another human being – someone who cries incessantly, feeds at inconvenient times, and depends on you for every basic need?

No doubt about it, getting your wife through pregnancy can be very hard. Fortunately, it only lasts nine months. Once the baby's born, the mother takes over and does everything, and your duties are reduced to feeling guilty and left out.

It's not that we fathers don't try, generally speaking. We're just fabulously incompetent.

For example, when my daughter was just a few weeks old, I started trying to feed her with a bottle. My wife had pumped about 117 gallons of breast milk, which did not look to me like a very pleasant way to spend an evening.

Anyway, the baby rejected both me and the bottle. I tried everything -- holding the bottle at various angles, squirting the milk at her mouth from across the room, and whatnot -- and I eventually gave up after two or three laborious attempts.

Now maybe plenty of fathers out there have managed to feed their babies. But I guarantee they've screwed up any number of other things:

“Did you remember to pack the baby toys?”

“Uh, you put her diaper on backwards.”

“What are you doing? Those clothes don't even match! Didn't you see the outfit I laid out?”

“UGH! The baby's clothes don't match either!”

Now, please don't misinterpret this as some big effort on my part to portray my wife as a nag. Nothing could be further from the truth; in reality, portraying my wife as a nag takes no effort whatsoever.

Ha ha! No, seriously: in addition to having a great sense of humor about herself, my wife has very high standards when it comes to parenting. If there is one area in which I would want someone to have high standards, it would be parenting.

And the truth is, she has been exceptionally patient with my inability to notice subtle things, such as when the baby is or is not, technically speaking, rancid, and therefore in need of a new diaper. As a result, I am three thousand times a more capable parent than if I were married to some pushover.

As a result of this self-confidence, I am able to relax and enjoy my healthy, well-nurtured super-genius of a child. At the moment she is pounding mercilessly on a toy piano and singing what seems to be the second verse of “Deck the Halls” over and over and over again.

You might think this would give me a headache, but in reality, it gives me a face-ache.

A guy who helped us put up new sheet rock in our house called it the “Big Dumb Smile.” I'll never forget how he described coming home from work and flopping down on the couch to watch his kids play, and then noticing a raw, burning pain in his cheeks that made him realize he had been smiling uncontrollably for about 15 minutes.

So there's a perfect euphemism for being a dad:

Wearing The Big Dumb Smile.