Q&A: Paul Ford, writer, nerd, father

Seeing as DadWagon exists entirely in what the children like to refer to as “Cyberspace,” we figured we would do an interview with an actual Internet guru type. Paul Ford founded the blog Ftrain.com in 1997, when computers still came with worker gerbils running on a wheel. His novel, Gary Benchley, Rock Star, first appeared, in serial form, at The Morning News, where he is a regular contributor. His writing on technology and the imagination has appeared in Harper’s, New York Magazine, and lots of other places that I am too lazy to read. This interview took place a few weeks before the arrival of his twins last week.

Theodore: Okay. Here goes: According to your website, you are a “nerd,” someone that people can rely on for accurate information on a wide array of topics. In that light, and given the fact that you are about to be the father of twins, I’m going to ask you to explain (or at least guess) at a few kiddie-related concepts. Here’s the first: elimination communication. Please explain, nerd.

Paul: First, Ted, allow me to say how glad I am to be here and speaking to the fine citizens of DadWagon. Second, elimination communication. This is something I’ve often heard discussed. I know in our insular community of anxious, competitive parents, it’s become quite a thing. And the basic idea is, that, rather than your child being a firehose of pure shit, instead, you can have a deep, intimate interaction with your baby about elimination. In my head, it’s a lot of waving. I think it involves hand signals.But there is one thing I am sure of: People who practice elimination communication are bad people and they live a life of lies. All of them are secretly monsters who enjoy experimenting on helpless babies. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. ESPECIALLY IN PARK SLOPE>BAD BAD MOTHERS. I kind of want to revise that for maximum rage-induction. Also, DiaperFreebaby.org is looking for a public relations manager. Application SENT.

Theodore: Enlightening! In truth, I didn’t really expect an answer. I just find the word “elimination” to be funny, discomforting, and totally awesome. But that was great. Next up: Baby Yoga: porn, wacko and dangerous practice, or both?

Paul:  Oh, wait: Here is the crazy article with the picture of Hannah Rothstein at 7 months that basically SET PARK SLOPE ON FIRE: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/09/nyregion/09diapers.html. The Times is the source of all evil.

Baby yoga is basically one step up from cat yoga. Also, babies are incredibly flexible. My biggest fear before becoming a dad was that I’d break baby. But I went over to my friend’s place and he has a seven-month-old and I watched him change some diapers, and I realized, babies are completely bendy. You can wave them around like chicken. But to be totally clear, I am totally fine with baby hatha yoga, but very mixed on ashtanga and iyengar for babies.

Theodore: “Bendy.” Another word I enjoy and hate all at the same time. Last one: please sketch the legal history that allowed us to arrive at “no touch” sunscreen policies in children’s summer camps. Also, please let our readers know if you ever put sunscreen on yourself, which as a male, could legally be considered molestation.

Paul: Wait what? Summer camps? I’m half-Irish. Summer camp meant sitting quietly in the basement waiting for the yelling to stop.

Theodore: Yes. Summer camp. Macaroni art. Socialist sing-alongs. Softball. You’ve worked in media long enough, my friend. As an honorary Jew, you should know from summer camp. But if you wanna pass on that one…

Paul: I do know from summer camp. So the sunscreen thing is weird. Is the issue simply that we don’t want men to rub sunscreen on little boys? The answer here is simple: Sunscreen-applying robots.

Theodore: I like that. I should get one to help keep my Roomba protected from the sun.

Paul: Exactly. I was about to say something about being an honorary Jew, and then I realized that I’m sitting here drinking seltzer in Brooklyn and my half-Jewish wife is in the other room.

Theodore: Okay. Onward. Many of our readers enjoyed your story “Nanolaw with Daughter,” but frankly, I thought that, while well-written, there was a certain naïveté hidden amid the great big piles of click-baited techno-story-telling. You wrote this before the kids came, and it almost sounded as if you thought children were nice, rational, clean little beings with normal questions, instead of the feral hamsters that they actually are. I refer you to the last line of the story:

“One team would win; another team would lose; or they’d tie; or it would rain. All would go home. And days or decades from now, someone will find a way to cull, to merge, to bend the bobbing ponytails to their own ends and use them in some scheme. They will steal that light as if were nothing, as if it were not life itself.”

Pretty. Very pretty. But will this help with elimination hits the fan? Please comment.

Paul: “But will help with elimination hits the fan?” Also, the child in that story was ten.

Theodore: Uh, sorry, I mean, but will your idealism help when the elimination hits the fan.

Paul: Ah, I see. Well, actually, in that story the girl is interested in becoming a lawyer and suing the whole world. She has fantasies of absolute power and control. But the father is only beginning to see and understand them. I wish I could be idealistic, but as you know from our work history together, it’s a sucker’s game. But I’m going to do absolutely everything I can to give both of my children the ability to be the worst little hamster monsters they possibly can.

Theodore: By the way, speaking of half-Jewish, here’s something I researched for my book and was writing about today: The Half-Jewish Network. And it’s not a TV station. The woman who founded it uses the e-mail handle “binary star.”

Paul: OOOOF.

Theodore: Not that that’s relevant, but you mentioned seltzer.

Paul: Of course. Somehow this conversation has ended up being about Jews, Ted. I wonder who made that happen.

Theodore: The media did, Paul. And the bankers. Be afraid.

Paul: Here’s something I reasearched for MY book, which is called “SHUT UP ABOUT JEWS TED.”

Theodore: Ouch. That was the most anti-Semitic thing anyone has ever said to me. You are soooo going in my book now.

Paul: Then who will blurb it?

Theodore: Good point. Okay. So I know you went to the Hershey School as a kid growing up. Is that correct?

Paul: Yes, I graduated from Milton Hershey School in Hershey, Pennsylvania.

Theodore: Can you tell me about that? Because without really knowing much about it, I’m getting Willie Wonka vibes.

Paul: So! No. Not very Wonka-ish. Milton Hershey is a boarding school for poor kids, basically. They dress you and educate you, and you live in student homes. They also gave me money for college. The school controls HerCo, which is the corporation that puts out all the various Hershey brands. Everything did smell of chocolate there. And we spent a lot of time learning about Milton Snavely Hershey and his wife Fanny, who couldn’t have children of their own (one biographer points to Fanny’s syphilitic infertility as a cause, but that’s contested, or at least disliked), so they founded an orphanage.

Theodore: Well, that doesn’t sound horrible at all, which is what I was going for. Let’s move on. Again, we’re doing this interview before you are officially a parent. I’d like you to cast your mind forward, and assuming you’re not superstitious, describe what you think the first week is going to be like.

Paul: Well, there will be two babies. So I expect it to be basically a complete apocalyptic festival of crazy. We are hiring a baby nurse for the first few weeks. Which is a lot like hiring a nanny, but much, much less fraught with social anxiety and confusion. I’ve been told to expect no sleep, and that I will change many diapers. My wife will likely have a C scar. And I probably won’t leave the house much. And everyone has told me at length that poo will run my life. And that there will be multiple colors of poo. Also, wipe front to back for girls. I’ve been told that. And give up any ambitions and hopes you have for yourself, and subvert your sense of identity to these screaming bags of pure hunger and fear. So, a lot like having cats.

Theodore: Maybe you’re less naïve when you’re not blogging, because that sounds about right. A question: How is hiring a baby nurse less fraught with social anxiety and confusion? I’d say illegal labor is illegal labor, my friend. And also, the poo is nothing. It’s all about sleep. Sleep is everything. And yes, that wiping in different directions totally threw me, too.

Paul: Less fraught because it’s only for a few weeks. And we’ve been told it’s cool to pay by check, so I’m assuming SOMETHING is on the up-and-up with our baby nurse scenario (they have a website, too, and references from our friends).

Theodore: I’d like to point out to our readers that you don’t actually live in Park Slope. Can you comment on why not? Don’t you think it’s the ideal environment in which to raise children?

Paul: We live in Ditmas [a gentrifying neighborhood not far away]. And nearly every unit in our building has a stroller in front. And the way that happened is, people were living in Park Slope and they said, “we need more space,” and the realtor said, “It’s $6,000 a month for a two-bedroom,” and BAM, Ditmas.

Theodore: Anyway, so next question. I find that my life as an editor and writer is somewhat less than financially satisfying. Do you have any thoughts about the career choices of your unborn children? I was whispering “stock trader” in the ears of both of my children when I was still a black-and-white blob on the periphery of their undeveloped vision.

Paul: Well, so, you know, I make most of my living as a programmer/consultant-type, right? Because of that problem with writing. My father always said: A man should have both a profession and an avocation. Which, I mean, he was an experimental poet who taught creative writing and wrote weird plays. So, you know, teaching was his profession. So I would encourage my children to be able to do a few things, some that make money, and some that are satisfying, but also hope that they could understand that it can be a fool’s errand to try to make the ones that don’t make money into moneymakers. This will all seem funny when my daughter drops out of law school to be a PA on independent films.

Theodore: Wait, your dad was an experimental poet? Did he ever write anything about you? What the fuck is an experimental poet? How do I not already know about this?

Paul: Sure! He had a number of plays produced and his poems were all over the place.

Theodore: Can you quote from memory, perchance?

Paul: I can do better: He has a blog that he updates every day with a play or story: http://motleycrisp.blogspot.com/

Theodore: Really! Did you get him into that?

Paul: Nah, he did it on his own. He was always good with computers.

Theodore: Nice. Best my dad could do was the Times crossword, in pen. Last one: Would you like to say anything to your babies? Something that they can find some day and understand where you mind was at this particular moment?

Paul: Oh, it’s impossible without being sentimental. There’s just no cleverness in me on that particular subject. Basically, my mind was on the babies. And that’s where it will stay.

Theodore: Good answer.

Q&A: Jason Domnarski of Park Slope Rock School Paris

Class in session at Park Slope Rock School (Brooklyn).

Last weekend, while my wife, Jean, and I were traipsing around Paris, we stopped into a cool children’s clothing store, where a flyer near the door caught my eye: “Park Slope Rock School Paris,” it read: “Throughout the semester our students make music as a band and learn the basics of playing and performing rock music in a collaborative setting; students will learn popular Anglo-American rock hits and write their own songs.”

Uh, Park Slope? In Paris? It turns out that this school of rock is actually the newly opened Paris branch of the four-year-old Brooklyn school, spearheaded by Jason Domnarski, a pianist with the electro-jazz-rock trio JDT. Fascinated by the nascent connections between Paris and hipster Brooklyn, I asked Jason—30 and married, but not yet a father—to talk with me via Skype about exporting the borough’s culture overseas.

Okay, what exactly is Park Slope Rock School?

PSRS is an independent music school for kids aged 8-16. Over the course of the 15 week semester, students are placed into bands and begin to learn the ins and outs of learning, writing and performing rock music. We also place a huge emphasis on writing original music, allowing the students to express themselves creatively, all while working with their peers in a band context.

Are there multiple classes, or just one all-encompassing semester course?

All classes are centered around weekly band instruction. The students meet once a week in their band. We currently have 6 bands.

Do the bands have names?

Well, we just started our fall semester this past weekend, so many of them are not yet named…but yes, each band names themselves. We have been working with one band for many years named FLITE. They’ve won the NYC Battle of the Bands twice now. We’re very proud! Past names have included Revolve, The Messed Up Hobos, Magnetic Feedback. It’s funny, the kids are able to pick up a Rolling Stones tune in one class but getting them to decide on a name takes forever!

So, why open Park Slope Rock School in Paris?

Because my wife lives here and I had to move. But I’ve been very inspired by what has happened with the school in Brooklyn and feel that Paris kids are ready for the program. Most music education here in Paris is based in conservatories or independent schools that focus on classical or jazz studies. There are very few outlets for children to play rock/pop music and have a go at writing their own music. That, and applied English language activities are very popular here, so what better way to practice your English with some Beatles lyrics with a guitar in hand?

Does “very few” mean that you have competition on the “teaching tweens and teens to rock” circuit?

There isn’t really any competition here for what I do. There are a few schools that have begun to teach young children some songs from the rock canon, but most of them focus on younger children with more of a singalong setting. As far as band programs, there isn’t anything here yet. And to have the Brooklyn school already successful brings some cachet to the program. The fact that I’m American and conduct the classes in English is a huge plus and quite unique here.

Do Parisians have the Jack Black movie “School of Rock” as a reference point? Do they mention that to you when they sign kids up?

Ah yes. No interview is complete without the Jack Black reference. I have not heard anyone utter his name over here. A nice change from Brooklyn, where I can’t escape the comparision. I may sound bitter, but I’m not. If not for that movie, rock schools wouldn’t be the force they are today. And it’s one of my top 5.

What kinds of kids/families are signing up in Paris so far?

So far, I have many international families. Most students are bilingual, either American, British, Swiss etc… I have a couple French families and the word is continuning to spread in that community. The parents, much like in Brooklyn, tend to be musicians, writers, photographers … very creative folks.

What does “Park Slope” actually mean to Parisians?

That is the question at the moment. In naming the school Park Slope Rock School PARIS, I really wanted to build on the brand and create a community where the Brooklyn families and Paris families could see what was happening across the ocean … be a part of something big, but at the same time small and boutique like. There are a few families that have mentioned they know of Park Slope, either having been there or from reading about it, but I also think it’s a new neighborhood for a lot of French people. Maybe I’ll introduce them to the borough! Or maybe I’ll have to change the name because it’s too confusing.

But don’t Parisians have some sense of what Brooklyn is/means? When I was there last week, “Brooklyn” seemed big. My wife even bought a sweatshirt with the words “Brooklyn parle français.”

It’s true. Brooklyn is huge here and has huge cachet. But I don’t think the individual boroughs are as well known. I’ve heard the name Williamsburg being dropped here and there, but that’s it. I think the fashion, art and music styles are very Brooklyn in a few arrondisements here. But what I like is there is still the Parisian take on this. One of the things that drove me crazy about living in Williamsburg was that everyone spent so much time looking edgy, but if you took the L train at night, they all looked the same. Here I can see the influences, but it’s a little less obvious.

Where is PSRS Paris located?

PSRS Paris classes are held at SMOM Studios in the 20th Arrondisement. The 20th feels very Brooklyn to me. There are tons of young creative types and young families living here and the area is rapidly gentrifying. Some of the best music clubs are here in the 20th.

Would you call the 20th the Williamsburg of Paris?

Definitely. Walk up Rue Oberkampf at 1am and it’s virtually identical to Bedford. Only the people are better looking … sorry BK! Technically, Oberkampf is in the 11th, but ends in the 20th. Some people like to split hairs about these types of things.

All right then, where’s the Park Slope of Paris?

Hmmm. I think you can find the same type of vibe in the 11th, 9th and 20th Arr. Brownstone Brooklyn will always be it’s own thing, thank god, but these Arr are quite trendy, with tons of great cafes, bars, vintage shops, expensive kid stores. There are almost as many Maclarens here as in PS, unfortunately!

And we call them bobos, btw.

For “bourgeois bohemians,” naturally. How else do Parisian and Brooklyn parenting trends match up?

I’m not sure if I’m the best person to ask about that.

Well, you see and deal with these kids and their families, right?

I have much more experience dealing with Brooklyn families. My Paris program starts next week, so I haven’t yet seen them in action, but my interactions so far have been quite similar. All the parents seem to want to find a positive, fun, and musical outlet for their kids but there doesn’t seem to be a lot out there for that.

In Brooklyn, parents are incredibly supportive of their children and love to see their child involved in creative, slightly unique, activites. That being said, some can go too far and try to live vicariously through their kids, wishing to relive their college band days.

I think the same can be said for the Paris folks.

In Paris, what’s the attitude towards “alterna-dads” with their band T-shirts, cool sneakers, skateboards, kids in rock school, and facial hair? Are they as dismissive of them as we Brooklynites are? (Full disclosure: I am one of them.)

Ha! I love it. I’m sure I’ll be there with you in a couple years. I see the hip Dads everywhere here and I’m proud to now offer them a rock school for their kids to complete the image! However, I don’t feel the same judgement of these types as I did in Brooklyn. It’s funny. Paris is a much smaller town than NYC or even Brooklyn, but I feel the concentration in Park Slope, Prospect Heights, and Williamsburg is astounding. It’s like there’s a magnet.

And the few dads I know like this are surprisingly uninterested in a big social life, getting out there and being seen. They’re kind of “all about the kids” right now.

What kind of differences do you see in how Paris and Brooklyn families function? Are there things that Brooklyn parents or kids do that Parisians would never do? Or vice-versa?

Hmm. Give me a sec.

I think a big difference between the two involves kids’ extra curricular activities. I think this is also indicative of a larger difference between the states and France. I’m astounded by how busy and overworked some of our Brooklyn students are. Music classes, karate, tutors, SAT prep, play dates… There’s so little time in the week for the kid to just hang out. I think there’s a big emphasis here on making sure families spend more time together than just in a car, running from one activity to another. I don’t know every Parisian child’s schedule, so I’m sure there are exceptions, but so far I’ve been dealing with much more relaxed parents in Paris.

AND

When a kid falls down in Paris, the parents give him a second to deal with him/herself, rather than scooping them up, getting out the disinfectant and cooing. I know it’s a weird aside, but I’ve seen it a few times. Less tiger moms, if I can use a now clichéd term.

Back to the school: Are you adjusting the curriculum at all? I know it’s just getting started, but are there English-language songs or bands that are well-known in Paris but not in America? And are you boning up on Johnny Hallyday and Serge Gainsbourg tunes as well?

I’m hoping to introduce many of the same bands as I do in Brooklyn: Rolling Stones, AC/DC, Beatles, Tom Petty, David Bowie. I am a huge Gainsbourg fan, but I’m not sure if I want 10 year old girls to be singing “Je T’Aime Moi Non Plus.” The British and American rock canon has definitely made it over here, so I don’t think I should have a problem. I know a few already want to learn some Phoenix songs, of course! What I’m looking forward to seeing are the original songs with English lyrics. It’s hard enough to write lyrics in your native language, so we’ll see what the French students come up with. It’s going to be awesome.

Until the backlash, of course. When Park Slope and Brooklyn are involved, there’s always a backlash. Right?

I think the two can live happily ever after! I would even love to see some exchange program happening with Paris and Brooklyn bands. Play a show in the other city, hang out for a week. How awesome. But that’s still a pipe dream.

I love Park Slope, despite it’s excess of strollers and fascist state food coop. (I’m going to get in trouble for that.) There are very few communities like it in the country and I’m so happy to be able to interact with the kids and families on a regular basis. I hope Paris will be the same way. I definitely hope the bands will be as good, because the Brooklyn kids rock!

Q&A: Fake Louis C.K.

Louis C.K. is basically the patron saint of DadWagon: an angry, confused, profane, and frequently hilarious father; divorced and bitter and elated; infuriated and smitten with his children; and prone to smoking pot with the neighbors instead of exercising or paying attention to the kids. Or at least, that’s what his character is like on “Louie,” his fantastic show on FX, whose second season begins June 23.

We’d like to be able to say that’s what he’s like in reality, too, but his publicist said he didn’t have time for an interview. So, to get something up on our site today, and to delight you, our beloved readers, we’ve simply made up his answers to the questions we would’ve liked to ask.

So, Louis, thanks for joining us imaginarily. Sorry you couldn’t be here in reality.

Yeah, sorry about that, too. I’ve kind of done all the publicity I can stand for the show already. Plus, I’ve never heard of you guys.

That’s all right. If we were you, we wouldn’t talk to us either. That said, here’s your first question: What’s funnier, marriage or divorce?

Really? That’s your first question?

What? Too straight for a fake interview?

Uh, yeah.

You’re right, but it lets me pontificate about the subject in your fake answer.

In that case, it all depends on whether you prefer your comedy to come from exasperation or anger. In marriage, whether a good one or a bad one, there’s some kind of love at the bottom of the jokes. It might be real love or it might be feigned, but it tempers the humor, makes it more observational. You are asking an audience to share your point of view, a global point of view, about the subject. Divorce jokes are angry jokes, and anger goes all over the place: at the ex, at the kids, at the legal system, at yourself. It’s got more energy, and that can be nice. But it’s also more narcissistic, more “Listen to my tale of woe!” And comedians are already narcissists, so maybe divorce is better for them. Me, I’m a whole lot fucking funnier now that I’m single.

Here’s something we think a lot about at DadWagon: how much to use our kids as source material. Your daughters’ lives are a major component of your act; have they ever asked to be kept out of it? At what point do you give them privacy?

Never. If they want to continue eating meals every day and wearing clean clothes (or, really, if their mother wants to keep receiving child support), I have to keep making money. And I make money by turning their embarrassments and miseries—like getting bitten by a pony—into ha-ha anecdotes that people pay me to tell at live shows. If the kids don’t like it, I know a good Chinatown brothel where they can go earn their keep. Actually, come to think of it, it’s not really a good one after all.

The other day, my wife and kid and I came home, and I pretended to be tired to get out of feeding or bathing the kid—so I could catch up on the first season of “Louie” on Hulu. Was that wrong?

Of course, but why should you care? The very fact that you were present for at least part of the time with your wife and kid makes you a hero in the eyes of the world. Also, you watching my show put money in my pocket, so I approve.

But in your Esquire interview, you’ve said you don’t earn anything from FX—you make most of your income from stand-up. So, if you’re making so much money doing standup, and “Louie” is all about total creative control, and making it is a personal expression, and the studio fuckers are all soulless robots attempting to murder your artistic impulses, and you don’t need them, and I repeat, you make serious “fuck you money,” and everyone else can go suck it, and David Letterman can’t take a joke, and all that shit… why make the show in the first place? What do you get out of FX that you couldn’t provide for yourself? Is it only the insurance, and camera dudes, and craft service handjobs, and all that nuts-and-bolts stuff that an actual network, albeit a small one, offers, or is it something else? Do you just enjoy the idea of having them over a barrel and propagating the myth of this completely unyielding creative spirit, who actually gets to win, and then ramming it down their throat? Cause if it’s that, fine. But I would ask, why use them at all? Why not start your own network, if you’re that huge, borrow some money from somewhere and start your own banana republic where TV execs shine your shoes, you are heroically videotaped naked, and Top Ten lists run like water in the streets?

I’m sorry, what was the question?

Let me rephrase: Why are you such a cocksucker?

Oh. Because I’m your father. That’s why. Now get me a beer.

Classic dad answer. I like it. Okay, final question: Babies in bars—yes or no?

They’ll probably get kicked out—stupid fucking babies—but as long as they’re not mine, I don’t give a damn.

DadWagon Q&A: Donovan Hohn, author of Moby-Duck

For the sequel: Moby-Duck takes Manhattan

In observance of the solemn occasion that is Father’s Day, the famed DadWagon interview turns its eye to Donovan Hohn, features editor at GQ and author of Moby-Duck, a book whose subtitle tells you much of what you need to know about it: The True Story of 28,800 Bath Toys Lost at Sea and of the Beachcombers, Oceanographers, Environmentalists, and Fools, Including the Author, Who Went in Search of Them.

What it doesn’t tell you is how much the book interests itself with the ideas of childhood, fatherhood, and the two pillars of contemporary parenting: anxiety and hope. It is a sweeping, smart, sentimental, funny, sad, hugely intelligent, and greatly moving book [and we say that because we mean it, and not because we think GQ should assign us to write highly-paid features about sexy Hollywood starlets–although they should.] We thought Donovan might bring some of his insight to the subjects we think about at DadWagon.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of your book had to do with the history of childhood and how concepts of what kids are has evolved over time. I’m going to include what I consider a great passage regarding that:

In the Middle Ages, when almost no one went to school, children were treated like miniature adults. At work and at play, there was little age-based segregation. “Everything was permitted in their presence,” according to one of Ariès’s sources, even “coarse language, scabrous actions and situations; they had heard everything and seen everything.” Power, not age, determined whether a person was treated like a child. Until the seventeenth century, the European idea of childhood “was bound up with the idea of dependence: the words ‘sons,’ ‘varlets,’ and ‘boys’ were also words in the vocabulary of feudal subordination. One could leave childhood only by leaving the state of dependence.” Our notion of childhood as a sheltered period of innocence begins to emerge with the modern education system, Ariès argues. As the period of economic dependence lengthened among the educated classes, so too did childhood. These days education and the puerility it entails often last well into one’s twenties, or longer.

Tell me: what do these changing ideas of childhood mean to you?

The spring I first came across the story of the bath toys lost at sea, the spring of 2005, I was about to become a father. And as you know, when that happens, you’re suddenly initiated into this weird new-parent subculture. You’re reading baby books, shopping for baby gear, visiting maternity wards. And the artifacts of that subculture suggested all sorts of confused, semi-articulate notions about childhood. So I started reading books like Huck’s Raft, a history of American childhood, or Philippe Ariès’s Centuries of Childhood. I suppose those books were my version of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. As I mention in the book, the Puritans saw children as wicked little beasts, born into sin. The romantics idealized them as little noble savages. For Victorians, there was a sentimental cult of purity and innocence. How did our parents see us? How do we see kids now? Those seemed like good questions. They still do. In part because I think our thoughts and feelings about childhood are for our generation unusually vexed.

“Unusually vexed”? How so?

The American divorce rate peaked in 1980. I don’t think that divorce is in itself a problem. Hell, in many cases—my parents’, for instance—it’s preferable to the alternative. But that 1981 peak is, I think, a meaningful indicator of how much domestic life was in turmoil in the Seventies. On the street where I grew up, it was like the spread of an infectious disease, the way families kept falling apart. Now as parents I think many of us who grew up then feel both a melancholy kind of nostalgia for the childish things of the Seventies and an acute wish to be better parents than our own parents were.

A radical shift in gears, if you don’t mind. What books are you reading to your kids? Any favorites? Ones you hate? Ones you wish they would like but they don’t? (My son won’t fall in love with Stuart Little no matter how hard I try.)

I read my older son Stuart Little a couple years ago, and he listened attentively, but I don’t think he fell for it. Then this spring he read it on his own, and loved it. That’s his big thing now: reading solo. He just got the hang of it and now can’t get enough of it. He’s also started making his way through the Roald Dahl books, and enjoying them as much as I hoped he would because it doesn’t get much better than Roald Dahl. We thought about trying Charlotte’s Web but decided he’s not ready for the death of Charlotte, who is after all a maternal figure. He’s terrified of mortality right now—his own, ours. (How do you explain death to a five-year-old? There’s a topic for DadWagon.) (Editor’s note: Way ahead of you.)

Beyond just kids’ books, what are your favorite books that include fatherhood as a theme? Do you see any similarities between them?

I think there’s a dearth of good portraits of fatherhood, at least by American writers. There are plenty of fathers, but they tend to be like Pap in Huck Finn. Or like Willy Loman. Or like Rabbit Angstrom in the Updike novels, fathers who wish they were still Huck. What are the exceptions? Actually, come to think of it, I suppose Jim in Huck Finn is an exception. McCarthy’s The Road comes to mind. You can add that to DadWagon’s what-made-me-cry-today thread: the end of The Road. Researching my own book, I stumbled on Rockwell Kent’s Wilderness: A Journal of Quiet Adventure, about the six months Kent lived alone on an Alaskan island with his nine-year-old son. Kent’s there to paint the landscape, but it’s his portrait of his daily life with his son that makes the book worth reading. There’s Richard Ford’s Independence Day. It occurs to me that all three of those books are about fathers as single parents. Not sure what to make of that. You know what novel is to an underappreciated degree about both fatherhood and motherhood? The Scarlet Letter. When I read it in high school, I hated it. When I read it after becoming a father, I loved it. People tend to think it’s a story about the forbidden love of Hester and Dimmesdale. But at the heart of the story is Pearl. She’s the catalyst in the plot who rewrites the meaning of the letter A (in seaweed) and reunites her parents, transforming both of them. I’d love to find more recent examples. Perhaps your readers will recommend some.

Children today get little opportunity for unsupervised play. What impact does that have on their imagination?

I have no idea what impact it has, but I do find myself wishing that my kids could spend as much time outside, on the loose, as I did. The best parts of my childhood were the unchaperoned hours outside. (Also the best part of Malick’s Tree of Life, by the way, which I mention mainly because it’s the first movie my wife and I have seen in a theater in two years, since our younger son was born.) Your question makes me think of this Isaac Babel story I love called “Awakening” about Babel’s childhood in Odessa. His parents in the story remind me of many New York parents. They make their boy take music lessons with a violin teacher named Mr. Zagursky, who runs “a factory that churned out child progidies.” But our hero is no prodigy. “Sounds scraped out of my violin like iron filings,” Babel writes. Instead of scores, he places on his music stand books by Turgenev and Dumas, reading them as he scrapes away. Eventually he starts playing hooky from Zagursky’s studio, sneaking off to the harbor, where he meets a man by the name of Smolich and begins a different sort of apprenticeship. Smolich teaches him to swim, and to pay attention. “‘What kind of bird is that singing?’” Smolich asks his young student one afternoon. “I couldn’t answer,” Babel writes. “The names of birds and trees, what families they belonged to, where the birds flew, on which side the sun rose, when the dew was at its heaviest—all this was unknown to me.” Smolich: “‘And you have the audacity to write? . . . Your landscapes resemble descriptions of stage sets. Goddamn it! What could your parents have been thinking of these past fourteen years?’”

Right now, people are talking about Go the F**k to Sleep. Pitch me your children’s book. I know you have one. Don’t worry, we won’t steal it.

Back in our twenties, in the Before Children Era, I used to make up bedtime stories to help my wife go to sleep, and there is one I think would make a good picture book. But I’m not ready to tell it, sorry. I have been thinking about the wild popularity of Andrew Mansbach’s Go the F**K to Sleep—which isn’t really a children’s book, of course. It reminds me of Louis C.K.’s comedy. Both give voice to the sort of thoughts parents usually try hard to keep private. I wonder if parenthood is, for many of us, the last great source of shame. I mean, it’s hard to be shocking about sex anymore. Or scatology. But your kids? My favorite line in the Mansbach book is the self-loathing one in which the speaker says, “I’m a crap parent.” Don’t we all think that sometimes? And sometimes, when we think that, it’s true. How could it not be?