Bad Dads We Love: Chastity Cop

Actually, no love for this father. A San Jose police officer finds out his 14-year-old daughter was banging some skinny little slip of a 15-year-old boy, and decides to scare the young man by coming to his home in full uniform, handcuffing him and talking ominously about filing an “informational report” to the sexual assault investigator so they might “file charges … for having sex with a minor.”

That was the story as it went around the media last week. But there are more layers of outrage within this stinking onion of a story. For one, after the boy’s parents went to the police department internal investigators with the video below of the arrest (and who is “stupid” now, officer, letting yourself be filmed doing this?), both the teenage boy and the daughter were cited for having underage sex. This is disturbingly common behavior, essentially pursuing charges against people who bring a legitimate complaint about police misbehavior (no word on what will happen with the cop himself). But it’s also sublimely ridiculous, treating teen hormones as a matter of law, criminalizing consensual sex between reproductively mature humans. I know teens aren’t perhaps emotionally ready to handle sex. But they do get laid, and no amount of legal bullying is going to change that. Teenagers in freaking Iran have sex, uncowed by much harsher laws than even this cop is ready to contemplate.

The other thing that struck me is how this cop, in bullying the boy, shows himself to be a bully of a father as well. He talks about his daughter in this way:

“Are you aware that that girl isn’t even old enough to remember how to take care of herself when she has her woman thing every month? She has to be reminded to take a fricking shower a couple times a week. But she just wouldn’t do it. And there you are. You make me sick. Both of you guys.”

Leave aside the Archie Bunkerism about her “woman thing” (which was, funnily enough, falsely transcribed in the video below). These are deeply uncharitable and unkind words, and his efforts to basically try to gross out his daughter’s boyfriend strikes me as a fundamental betrayal of his daughter’s privacy and personhood. Though this must be the default stance of any father who still treats his teenage daughter’s body as if it were family property, a costly Persian rug that this boy has defiled with his fluids.

The arrival of this particular bad dad on my laptop screen reminds me of a passage from Michael Chabon’s lovely Manhood for Amateurs (thanks for the book, Gil!), in which Chabon finds this gripe against the God of the Old Testament:

In His infinite capacity to engineer and experience disappointment, in His arbitrary and capricious cruelty, and in the evident pleasure He derives from the exercise thereof, there is probably a sharp insight into the nature of fathers generally, since at one time or another, if not on a daily basis, each of us fathers is the biggest asshole in the world.

I unabashedly include myself in this group of occasional assholes, though I will venture to say this cop is closer to the “on a daily basis” kind of asshole. Video below:

Dads and Drinking

drunk-dude-in-urinal

This is not me

It is back to school season, but not just for the kids. There’s been a particularly kinetic energy through my slice of the city over the past 2-3 weeks, as people return from fuck knows where and give in to the nearly prehistoric urge to reunite for one last celebration of the summer before the rest of the year starts.

Translation: I’ve been out a lot. Drinking. Carousing. Imbibing. And whatnot.

From a neurochemical standpoint, this is not good. Ethyl alcohol, as found in the Jamesons neats and hoppy beers I’ve been drinking, inhibits (among other things) a number of glutamate receptors in my brain. That’s why it’s a depressant: it’s blocking neural activity. But at the same time it’s also jiggling loose the dopamine and seratonin that influence mood and reward behavior. So as I’m taking syrupy shots of sadjuice, my brain tells me that drinking is a great thing that I should perhaps do more of, even though I know that 7am will roll pitilessly into my home the next day and it will be time to wake and pop some Advil and slog through diapers, serve up breakfast, walk to school, go to the gym, and then start a day of work (or citizen justice).

I have not done some of the bad things that dads in a drinking phase might do to their kids. I have not been drunk around them. I have not barked at them (though I may well have croaked, as I do get a little froggy after a night out). I have not skipped taking them to school. I have otherwise lived up to most if not all of my commitments as a man and a husband. I’ve been sleeping less, but have otherwise fit my day-life and night-life in together.

But still. There’s a part of me that wonders if I’m not somehow picking away at the glue that holds the family together when I find myself still at the bar at 12:30am on a weekend. I look around and get a fairly good sense that I may be the only father of young kids there. I know my wife does not head out for drinks after putting the kids to bed, so why do I?

I’m uncertain about all this because none of it is clearly stated in the contract of fatherhood. It just seems implied, a clause written in invisible ink that says: “You are a dad now. No acting a fool. No third round of drinks. No 2am cabs home.”

A new case is about to start up here in Useless Grand Jury Room #4, so I will leave my navel-gazing at that. But this is actually not a new concern or interest for me. I have my  bouts of clean living, and bouts of dirty drinking. None of them really sit right with me. Tell me, please, if I’m overdrinking or just overthinking.

Pancakes Make People Happy

dinosaur-pancakeParticularly when they look like this. I was not aware that there are pancake bloggers, but sure, why not? And this guy must surely deserve the Pancake-Blogging Pulitzer, for the thing that he made after a visit to the American Museum of Natural History.

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Fairway: Is Nothing Sacred?

fairway_market

For those of you who don’t live in New York City, the possessiveness that local residents can feel about Fairway won’t compute. For those who do, please get a tissue before reading this: lox trimmings.

The Fairway in Brooklyn, in particular, is a kind of parent wonderland. Located in Red Hook, right on the water, it opens early, has a cafeteria that serves excellent, cheap breakfast, and has an outdoor—and heated—dining area on a back deck with a view of the Hudson River, the Verrazzano Bridge, and the Statue of Liberty. At the risk of over-pimping for a profit-making venture, but taking JP to the Fairway for groceries and breakfast is a highlight of my parenting week. He can eat, he shout, he can run around, and I can finish a chore, all at the same time.

My only problem came this weekend when I ran into JP’s mother and her partner doing their own shopping … at the same time as me! This would decidedly not be what I call a good time. No fun making small talk with my ex, chuckling as she inquires after my girlfriend’s impending parenthood, and watching JP fill to the brim with confusion, all while the just-baked bagels get bought by some other undeserving parent.

It’s almost enough to make a man turn to C-Town. Almost.