I've Got a New Attitude

Actually, it's more like, "I've got a new pair o'boots!" Ladies and gaydies (and you too, Todd) I happened upon a slammin pair o'boots last night at Marshall's. I know this may cast some shade on my alleged 'gayness,' but I've bought neither clothes nor shoes in what seems like ages. In fact, the last pair of shoes I bought were these cute, cheap sneakers (again at Marshall's) over a year ago in Vagingy. The pent-up shopping frustration combined with my upcoming appearance (in the audience) at Bioletta's Mahlerian Fantasy on Friday exploded into a $65 shopping spree (boots + a cute top). Thank Zoroaster I live right near a Marshall's with a Men's shoe department.

Because I've been so out of the loop in every way for at least six months, I knew I had to do some preliminary research into the fashions those young people are wearing nowadays. Shoes were my first priority (you can't take that from me, cancer) thus, I've been doing some of what we PRs call 'browsing' on the interweb. Zappo's, in particular. While it truly feels like lightyears have passed since I've been fashion aware, I was both pleased and disappointed to find out that not that much has changed since last I checked. Fortunately, men's shoe fashions are far enough behind women's that my current collection was spared from going into the trash-can bonfire I had prepared in the backyard. However, I was hoping to get on some next level shit. These are slightly grotesque and cheap, but they filled my hole for some reason. I think I've started to become interested in fashion that has just enough funk/ugly/nastiness to keep you looking at it over and over again. There are even more grotesque examples- a lot of boots with a silhouette
reminiscent of 18th century shit- high heels and such. Fun- but I don't think I'm quite funky enough to pull those off. If I were Prince, though...

Anyway, I found these great Kenneth Cole zip-ups in black for $40!!! They are sexy, and on top of that, they are slaying my shins! They are rock hard and not fuckin around, but it's all good because you know I'm down for sacrificing to look sexy. (Of course, looking sexy would necessitate me figuring out how to walk in them. Walking down stairs is a particularly funny-looking and painful challenge, but I promise by the time Friday rolls around, I'm going to be all good. Mark my words, chirrens.)

Now that we've waded through the shallows, let's talk about my other non-boot New Attitude- I'm trying to become patient in my familial dealings. Since I've got such a huge family, I'm working in small chunks for now. Many of you know at least a little about my nephew Pappy. Pappy is eight years old (what a good year that was for me) and he is developmentally delayed by a couple of years. He also happens to be one of the bright shining things in my life, and has been since he was a baby. When I'd hold him in my arms, if he was awake, he was all big eyes, smiles and giggles. When asleep, he had this quirky and endearing habit of turning and burying his entire face into my crelbow, as if he couldn't get enough of being held. Pappy loved to love, and he hasn't changed much- he's still a good-natured love lover.

Anyway, because my brother and sister-in-law's schedules are so crazy, they needed help with the kids after school. I happened to be free, and whoomp! there it is. So, for this academic year, I've been playing tutor/snack/giver/fun uncle (funcle)/disciplinarian/etc., and I've learned a lot through my dealings with both kids. Pappy seems to have an extraordinary amount to teach me (read: it's tricky dealing with this kid).

The big theme in our relationship seems to be that balancing expectations and discipline with love and acceptance in your relationships is as difficult as it is important. The fact that Pappy has trouble learning, understanding and retaining the everyday concepts that are critical to becoming a functioning/independent adult fills me with dread/terror/worry/etc., as I know it does everyone else in the family. (I'm scared to even imagine how his parents must worry.) Who will take care of him when we're not around anymore?

Of course, our worrying does no good- but it does add a sense of urgency to our after-school homework/tutoring sessions. I don't even know if 'urgency' is a strong enough word, but y'all smell me, I'm sure. Some things stick- he's really pretty good at telling time on an analogue clock now, and he's actually able to make it through some children's books without stopping to figure out how to say each and every word. Place values? You might as well shoot me in the head. That pretty much complicates any math concepts that involve more than single digits.

I'm trying to remember back to first or second grade, to when we learned about place values, and to be honest, I don't think I ever questioned their purpose or how they functioned- I just accepted that it was something that I had to learn, and WALAH! (That was for you, Maven's Daddy.) If ayone has ideas on how to explain the purpose of place values to an eight year old with limited abilities in the abstract thought and focus departments, I'm all ears, plus, I'll send you a bag of Doritos if it works- but not a Big Grab- just one of the 25 cent ones.

We've also had some issues in the whole social interaction and manners department. Pappy is very compulsive. (I just had to look up the difference between impulsive and compulsive, lollerskates.) He's prone to grabbing without asking, eating like a monster, etc. Of course, these habits become themes in our never-ending Education of Pappy, along with place values and decoding the non-system of English pronunciation.

Of late, I think I've allowed the urgency/worry part of my feelings toward Pappy too much room in our relationship. Two days ago we were eating an after-school snack of shitty clementines. Although he had a napkin spread out right in front of him for the leftover orange parts, Pappy completely ignored the napkin and was leaving orange bits everywhere on the table. The napkin remained pristine and unmolested.

I don't remember why I was so impatient that particular minute, but I slammed my hand on the table and yelled at Pappy, "PUT THE ORANGE ON THE NAPKIN!" This is by no means the first time Pappy has been yelled at- he's constantly getting in trouble for this or that, and as I'll explain in another blog entry, PRs are yellers to begin with. This time was different, though. Usually he's so much in his own world that it takes three or four or five or six repetitions to catch his attention, regardless of volume. (I wish I were exaggerating.) Not this time. He was startled- I think most by the slap on the table- and he quickly gathered the scattered orange peel and half-chewed segments onto the napkin, the shock on his face transforming my anger into sadness.

If I'm so worried about how the rest of the world is going to treat this kid when he's older, why would I ever treat him this way now? Am I going to forget that maybe my most important job is to love and appreciate him for who he is right now? It's amazing how many thoughts you can experience in a split second.

That's not the end of my education for the day, though.

One reason why Pappy is a bright, shiny spot in my life is that he doesn't really hold onto things for very long. While I was just bitching about this in regard to his academic ability, in the interpersonal realm, it is beautiful and refreshing. He is a forgiving person. Consider that my family is full of people who know how to hold an AquaNet strength grudge. Maybe Pappy is part of our familial Karma, and also part of the path toward becoming love-lier people. In a sense, we each are exactly that, no? After telling him that I was sorry for raising my voice, I could sense him shake it off, and knowing he was over it made me feel better. We quickly resumed our usual snack-time goofing off.

One last note in the education of Dom: I'm not sure if I could ever handle the pressure of raising children. Just thinking about all the seemingly insignificant things one could do that might result in psychological complexes down the road was enough to turn me gay. (Yes, the truth comes out, finally- it was the kids, not the boots.)