Details and GQ magazines’ blog recently asked a question that truly winds up concerning parents only with regard to the offspring of others: “Are you raising a douchebag?”
But instead of providing a convenient checklist which will (1) make me laugh and (2) reassure me that the answer is “no,” the article winds up being yet another article on hipster parents. Sigh. Is it really so wrong to prefer Pumas to a bleached-white pair of kicky Keds?
Anyway, let’s focus on the fun part. Kids who are douchebags! Here’s how to know, according to the author:
"If it's your child, not you, who gets to choose your weekend brunch spot, or if he's the one asking how the branzino is prepared, it's probably time to take a hard look at your own behavior." (Blush. I don't think I know what a branzino is.)
"If your kid can tell which Ramone is Dee Dee and which one is Joey."
If your kid can text message (yes, but so can my mother-in-law).
If your kid is/was pushed around in a "limited-edition Bugaboo stroller by Bas Kosters ($2,000), carrying a Louis Vuitton diaper bag ($1,380), and checking in at a members-only parenting club like Citi-babes in Manhattan (annual membership: $2,000), your offspring are probably developing some serious entitlement issues. Just read the news. The Wall Street Journal recently reported on the rise of sixth-grade "fashion bullies" who terrorize peers who don't wear Junior Dolce & Gabbana. Then there was the New York Times article on youngsters—4-year-olds!—who fancy themselves collectors of highly coveted works of art." (Hey, we covered that!)
"If your kids dress, speak, and appreciate Roxy Music just like us."
Really? That’s it? Haven’t we covered this before? I’m a bit old-fashioned – perhaps simpler -- and think you’re raising a douchebag if your kid, a second-grader that I voluntarily drive home from school several times a week, rips the sunshade off the car window, yells at you for not providing snacks for the 10-minute ride, and tells you that you have fat knees. (Am I myself a douchebag for mouthing “fuck you!” in the front seat?)
In the end, the author (quoting Babble editor-in-chief Ada Calhoun) warns against trying to raise a child in the image of ourselves. Good advice, because boy would my kids have potty-mouths while also not know what in the hell a branzino is.
Ultimately, the question is whether we, as parents, are douchebags. Eh. I kind of doubt it, but I have been called worse. Just shut up about my fat knees!
Photo: men.style.com
