My dad and I, we dont get along. Well let me rephrase that, he gets along with me or at least wants to, but I think we are just too different to have anything but a superficial relationship. Now, I usually end up losing the "let me tell you how fucked up my dad is" competition to my friends, who come from broken homes, but that doesnt really make my relationship with my dad ok.
His views on life are so different from mine, that if he were a person I met at a dinner party, I would not talk to him for no longer than the 10 seconds it would take me to pound a full beer and excuse myself to get another. In hindsight, I think that I became the person I am today on my own. I see very little of him in me. I dont know why this happened - different generations, different lifestyles, different parenting techniques. I have tried my best to find some understanding and I cant. My dad had to play the bad cop amongst our parents. This is not an enviable role, especially when children turn into teenagers. I just think there were better ways he could have taught us. I think he tried too hard to hold onto and instill in us the values of the old country, while we(my older brother and I) were just trying to be kids and do as kids do. But maybe he just didnt know any better or any other way.
I think that may have been one of the reasons, I was so worried about having a boy. What if Junior turns out just like me - an ungrateful son, who complains about his father and how he was raised on his blog. I might be having a breakthrough right now, I'm not sure.
When I initially decided to write this blog, I really didnt know what direction, I wanted to go with it. But after some careful thought, with the help of some intoxicants, I thought, that this would be a good way to keep a journal for my son, before he was able to read and write -well actually before he was even out of the womb. I do hope I have records of it to give to him one day and he'll realize that his parents are not the freaks of nature we will appear to be when he is 18, but rather two people struggling to get by like everyone else. Maybe even somewhere along the way, I will gain some insight into what my father went through - why he had to be such a hard ass when we were growing up. I hope I can, I really would like to know.
With that, Junior really hasnt dont much over the last couple of days, except kick my wife's ribs really hard.
Next time: Does opting out of being the bad cop in the parenting scheme authorize me to allow Junior to have ice cream for dinner?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Reason He Will Make Me Go Bald
So I was discussing with my wife, the things that really worry me about being a parent. Actually not so much about being a parent, but more so about what is going to happen to junior. In no particular order here are my concerns:
1) what if he grows up to be an asshole. Now I know that there is the whole nature/nurture thing, and my wife and I will have a great impact on his upbringing. But we have all met those parents that are wonderful people, giving, provide their child with everything they needs (education, roof over their head, etc.), funny, but their kids still turn out to be complete and total douchebags. Now my wife is all of those wonderful things listed above. I am not. That is why she will be the bad cop and I will be good cop to our children. But nonethesless, this still concerns me.
2) he doesnt get the joke. My wife asked what I meant by this, and they only way I could describe it, is that I would be really disappointed if he would rather watch "Everybody Loves Raymond" than "Curb Your Enthusiasm."
3) he cant properly field a ground ball. Now I'm not saying I will be disappointed if he doesnt make the pro's, but the ability to compete in a pick up game of football, or get up and down the court for basketball is something that would be nice for him to be able to do. I dont want to be one of those sports nuts dads (those guys freak me the fuck out), but I would like him to be competitive at whatever he does.
4) that some day he thinks his dad is so uncool, that he wont even smoke a joint with me. I just think that would be fun one day.
Thats just a partial list, I may add on later.
1) what if he grows up to be an asshole. Now I know that there is the whole nature/nurture thing, and my wife and I will have a great impact on his upbringing. But we have all met those parents that are wonderful people, giving, provide their child with everything they needs (education, roof over their head, etc.), funny, but their kids still turn out to be complete and total douchebags. Now my wife is all of those wonderful things listed above. I am not. That is why she will be the bad cop and I will be good cop to our children. But nonethesless, this still concerns me.
2) he doesnt get the joke. My wife asked what I meant by this, and they only way I could describe it, is that I would be really disappointed if he would rather watch "Everybody Loves Raymond" than "Curb Your Enthusiasm."
3) he cant properly field a ground ball. Now I'm not saying I will be disappointed if he doesnt make the pro's, but the ability to compete in a pick up game of football, or get up and down the court for basketball is something that would be nice for him to be able to do. I dont want to be one of those sports nuts dads (those guys freak me the fuck out), but I would like him to be competitive at whatever he does.
4) that some day he thinks his dad is so uncool, that he wont even smoke a joint with me. I just think that would be fun one day.
Thats just a partial list, I may add on later.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A Desi by Any Other Name Would Be Just as Brown
What's in a name? If the amount of time spent thinking about it is any indication - everything apparently.
My wife and I have been having an incredibly difficult time coming up with a name for Junior. Any conversation, be it just between us, family, friends or co-workers, always begins serious, with a few credible suggestions and then inevitably devolves into crazy names. This results in suggestions including Ida Amin, Fidel and Lenin. I dont know why, but the conversations always seems to end with the suggestion of a dictators name.
I envy those families that have always known what they are going to name their child. It really must save them a lot of heartache. But my wife and I have really had some disagreements over this. My wife was born in the United States. Her parents, based on their incredibly long Indian last name, decided that they would give her an American Name that was easy to pronounce to go along with the more difficult last name. This has it's benefits (easy to pronounce, never any embarassment when giving your name at Fatburger, not having to repeat it 15 times and spell it out for individuals who have never heard a non-American name). It also has its drawbacks (her cultural identity is often mistaken, including, by other Indian individuals).
My parents on the other, chose to give me a proper Indian name. They of course didnt know when I was born that we would be moving to the U.S. five years later and that the country obviously has a fixation with easy american names. This has resulted in a complex, which it took me years to get over for the most part, yet not completely. When I told my father that we were thinking of something that would indicate our indian roots, but also be easy to pronounce, or even the possibility of a non-indian name he responded with the following story:
When we moved to this country in 1980 with nothing, and he started a job a week later(yes...it only took him a week to find a job - are you shitting me, who moves to a new country, and without the internet or prior job searches, finds a position in less than a week. talk about pressure). At his first meeting, my father stood up and introduced himself and sat back down. Shortly thereafter, another american individual stood up and stated that he could not pronounce my father's names as it was too difficult and introduced himself as having an easy to pronounce name. My father then stood right back up and said "I took the time to learn how to pronounce all of your names, the least you could do is learn to pronounce mine." He then went on to say that he never had a problem with his name again.
Now this is a great and uplifiting story. It shows conviction and a determination to be who you are to not cave to other ideals of what a name, identity or persona should be. But keep in mind that my father was 35 years old at this time. He was already the man that he would be for the rest of his life. He had forged his identity and was old and confident enough to separate the assholes of the world from good folks of the world.
I on the other hand was 5 years old, entering kindergarten, still had to go through adolescence, college and eventually become an adult. This of course resulted in the traditional Indian-American experience of shortening my name, going by a nickname, having my name deliberately mispronounced so that it was easier, etc.
Basically, even though times have changed and Indians are more prevalent in society, the name issue still comes up. I still deal with it every day. Its still a source of not wanting to engage in conversations and avoiding certain things, just because I dont want to have to go through the whole name pronunciation thing.
Although I must admit that there is one fantastic benefit to this. I always stand out. People may not remember exactly how to pronounce my name, but they never forget me. In a world where we are all trying to be unique(how similar of us), and the Toms, Dicks and Harrys of the world may have no problem with introductions and giving their names for reservations, the indian kid with the quirky name, is often the one who is remembered - good or bad, they dont forget.
Therefore, we now struggle with what to name Junior. I dont want him to have the same negative experiences I have had, but when he gets older he will understand the benefits of being different from the rest of the pack. The issue of his cultural heritage is not that big of a deal. My wife speaks our local dialect better, is more respectful of her parents, and is definitely more religious. This is the balance we struggle with. My wife and I's conflicting experiences have left us aware of the what can happen.
We just want a cool name that flows with the 7 constanants in our last name.
Next Time: Does immigrating at the age of 5 make me a FOB?
My wife and I have been having an incredibly difficult time coming up with a name for Junior. Any conversation, be it just between us, family, friends or co-workers, always begins serious, with a few credible suggestions and then inevitably devolves into crazy names. This results in suggestions including Ida Amin, Fidel and Lenin. I dont know why, but the conversations always seems to end with the suggestion of a dictators name.
I envy those families that have always known what they are going to name their child. It really must save them a lot of heartache. But my wife and I have really had some disagreements over this. My wife was born in the United States. Her parents, based on their incredibly long Indian last name, decided that they would give her an American Name that was easy to pronounce to go along with the more difficult last name. This has it's benefits (easy to pronounce, never any embarassment when giving your name at Fatburger, not having to repeat it 15 times and spell it out for individuals who have never heard a non-American name). It also has its drawbacks (her cultural identity is often mistaken, including, by other Indian individuals).
My parents on the other, chose to give me a proper Indian name. They of course didnt know when I was born that we would be moving to the U.S. five years later and that the country obviously has a fixation with easy american names. This has resulted in a complex, which it took me years to get over for the most part, yet not completely. When I told my father that we were thinking of something that would indicate our indian roots, but also be easy to pronounce, or even the possibility of a non-indian name he responded with the following story:
When we moved to this country in 1980 with nothing, and he started a job a week later(yes...it only took him a week to find a job - are you shitting me, who moves to a new country, and without the internet or prior job searches, finds a position in less than a week. talk about pressure). At his first meeting, my father stood up and introduced himself and sat back down. Shortly thereafter, another american individual stood up and stated that he could not pronounce my father's names as it was too difficult and introduced himself as having an easy to pronounce name. My father then stood right back up and said "I took the time to learn how to pronounce all of your names, the least you could do is learn to pronounce mine." He then went on to say that he never had a problem with his name again.
Now this is a great and uplifiting story. It shows conviction and a determination to be who you are to not cave to other ideals of what a name, identity or persona should be. But keep in mind that my father was 35 years old at this time. He was already the man that he would be for the rest of his life. He had forged his identity and was old and confident enough to separate the assholes of the world from good folks of the world.
I on the other hand was 5 years old, entering kindergarten, still had to go through adolescence, college and eventually become an adult. This of course resulted in the traditional Indian-American experience of shortening my name, going by a nickname, having my name deliberately mispronounced so that it was easier, etc.
Basically, even though times have changed and Indians are more prevalent in society, the name issue still comes up. I still deal with it every day. Its still a source of not wanting to engage in conversations and avoiding certain things, just because I dont want to have to go through the whole name pronunciation thing.
Although I must admit that there is one fantastic benefit to this. I always stand out. People may not remember exactly how to pronounce my name, but they never forget me. In a world where we are all trying to be unique(how similar of us), and the Toms, Dicks and Harrys of the world may have no problem with introductions and giving their names for reservations, the indian kid with the quirky name, is often the one who is remembered - good or bad, they dont forget.
Therefore, we now struggle with what to name Junior. I dont want him to have the same negative experiences I have had, but when he gets older he will understand the benefits of being different from the rest of the pack. The issue of his cultural heritage is not that big of a deal. My wife speaks our local dialect better, is more respectful of her parents, and is definitely more religious. This is the balance we struggle with. My wife and I's conflicting experiences have left us aware of the what can happen.
We just want a cool name that flows with the 7 constanants in our last name.
Next Time: Does immigrating at the age of 5 make me a FOB?
Monday, January 15, 2007
Sunday Are Meant For Lamaze
So my wife and I spent all Sunday, and I mean all Sunday (9 hours total) in lamaze class and getting a hospital tour. This was without a doubt the biggest waste of time that I have experienced since my ethics class in law school (if you dont already know that you shouldn't steal money from a client by the time you are in law school, it isnt going to get through to you based on a lecture.)
The following is what I learned in the lamaze class:
The following is what we did in lamaze class:
a) spent approximately 4 hours learning how to give my wife a massage. Now anyone who has ever been fortunate enough to knock up their wife, knows that carrying around 16-35 additional pounds around the stomach area is not fun. If you dont kow, trust me, the Pregos will tell you. This results in a daily massages that my wife receives. I am happy to give them, as she is carrying around the person who i hope one day will not put me in a retirement home. But the point being, that I am well aware of how to give my wife a massage and even more aware of where it hurts her most. I dont need a lecture on it.
b) Layed down on mats and went to a "happy place." The reason happy place is in there, is because that is what the dumb ass instructor actually said. BTW, when you wife tells you that her happy place was your bedroom at home, dont tell her, your happy place was a baseball field. I just dont think that when Junior is trying to push his way out of my wife's vagina, me going to my happy place is going to help the situation. Moreover, the common understanding is that childbirth is painful. Just tell us about the drugs and get it over with.
c) Put on the pregnacy suit. This was actually fun. Although in hindsight I really wish I had quoted monty python and said "where's it gonna gestate."
d) Watched boring ass videos of childbirth. enough said.
Now, my wife, bless her heart, is a loyal Steelers fan. Although once they are out of the playoffs, she doesnt care for football anymore. I on the other still enjoy the game and watch the playoffs intently, as they are the only major sport with a one game win or go home playoff format. Having said that, asking your wife during the lunch break if you are going to get to watch any football today, will not go over as well as you think. Lesson learned - say it under my breadth next time.
Also, sometime back, I drove across the country with a few friends, as I was getting ready for my life in suburbia. The wife had gone ahead, started working and was getting settled in. On said roadtrip of 2 weeks, I decided that I would get my wife souveniers along the way, to let her know that I wasnt just drinking and site seeing, but also thinking of her. But I decided that in stead of magnets and postcards, I would buy her trashy clothing. The first stop on the trip was Las Vegas. At the Hard Rock Casino, I purchased her a pair of low riding sweat pants, that read "Pink Taco" across the ass. Upon receiving said gift, my wife's only response was "Why do you want me to advertise my vagina."
How does this relate to Lamaze class...well let me tell you. The class was made up of about 10 couple, all married except for this one young couple, probably in their late teens or early twenties (kids these days), who were dating, but nonethessless at the class together. The pregnant young lady decided that for class she would wear a shirt that was too small for her, exposing her stomach that read "Kitten" and a pair of stretch pants that read "Apple Bottoms." Finally when we were alone, my wife asked if I had noticed the young lady in the "kitten" t-shirt, to which I replied "I'm kind of disappointed that you didnt wear your 'whore' t-shirt with your Pink Taco pants. I am so happy that I am having a boy.
Next time: what to do when your son finds his mother's Pink Taco pants.
The following is what I learned in the lamaze class:
The following is what we did in lamaze class:
a) spent approximately 4 hours learning how to give my wife a massage. Now anyone who has ever been fortunate enough to knock up their wife, knows that carrying around 16-35 additional pounds around the stomach area is not fun. If you dont kow, trust me, the Pregos will tell you. This results in a daily massages that my wife receives. I am happy to give them, as she is carrying around the person who i hope one day will not put me in a retirement home. But the point being, that I am well aware of how to give my wife a massage and even more aware of where it hurts her most. I dont need a lecture on it.
b) Layed down on mats and went to a "happy place." The reason happy place is in there, is because that is what the dumb ass instructor actually said. BTW, when you wife tells you that her happy place was your bedroom at home, dont tell her, your happy place was a baseball field. I just dont think that when Junior is trying to push his way out of my wife's vagina, me going to my happy place is going to help the situation. Moreover, the common understanding is that childbirth is painful. Just tell us about the drugs and get it over with.
c) Put on the pregnacy suit. This was actually fun. Although in hindsight I really wish I had quoted monty python and said "where's it gonna gestate."
d) Watched boring ass videos of childbirth. enough said.
Now, my wife, bless her heart, is a loyal Steelers fan. Although once they are out of the playoffs, she doesnt care for football anymore. I on the other still enjoy the game and watch the playoffs intently, as they are the only major sport with a one game win or go home playoff format. Having said that, asking your wife during the lunch break if you are going to get to watch any football today, will not go over as well as you think. Lesson learned - say it under my breadth next time.
Also, sometime back, I drove across the country with a few friends, as I was getting ready for my life in suburbia. The wife had gone ahead, started working and was getting settled in. On said roadtrip of 2 weeks, I decided that I would get my wife souveniers along the way, to let her know that I wasnt just drinking and site seeing, but also thinking of her. But I decided that in stead of magnets and postcards, I would buy her trashy clothing. The first stop on the trip was Las Vegas. At the Hard Rock Casino, I purchased her a pair of low riding sweat pants, that read "Pink Taco" across the ass. Upon receiving said gift, my wife's only response was "Why do you want me to advertise my vagina."
How does this relate to Lamaze class...well let me tell you. The class was made up of about 10 couple, all married except for this one young couple, probably in their late teens or early twenties (kids these days), who were dating, but nonethessless at the class together. The pregnant young lady decided that for class she would wear a shirt that was too small for her, exposing her stomach that read "Kitten" and a pair of stretch pants that read "Apple Bottoms." Finally when we were alone, my wife asked if I had noticed the young lady in the "kitten" t-shirt, to which I replied "I'm kind of disappointed that you didnt wear your 'whore' t-shirt with your Pink Taco pants. I am so happy that I am having a boy.
Next time: what to do when your son finds his mother's Pink Taco pants.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Is this where it begins or end
"Is that his little pecker." This will no doubt be one the first comments my child will claim, by my inference that he has a small penis, that will have scarred him for life. But in my defense, according the to the Ultrasound tech, parents can rarely identify the man part on the screen, especially individuals such as myself, who have never seen a live ultrasound before. So dont fret, yet unnamed child of mine, you may have a career in the porn industry after all.
Before we go any further, let me just say that I have no ideas what I am doing. This applies to multiple aspects of my life, including but not limited to, raising a child, writing a blog and being a good human being.
Let me sum up my life so far. so you know where my not so witty insight come from: Born in India, moved to L.A. at the age of 5, lost accent, grew up in L.A., college in CA, law school in CA, dated a lot, broke up a lot, drank a whole lot, smoked a whole lot, met girl, fell in love, moved to another part of CA, moved in with said girl, proposed to said girl, rejoiced when said girl said yes, married said girl, moved to city far from CA with very few Indians but big enough to have a football team, knocked up said girl, started this blog. Things happened in between all of that stuff of course, the interesting parts(usually the ones dealing with my devolution to a person who should not be allowed in society) I will try and retell as accurately as possible.
Now everyone I have talked to has said that my life is totally going to change when Junior arrives. The thing is, that I kind of enjoyed my life before one of my sperm defected from its "brief observation of vagina" only missions and decided to shack up in my wife's uterus for 9 months. We are 33 weeks into the defection with 7 weeks to go.
So when the little whippersnapper decides to enter this world and begin his life, it will most likely be the end of my life as I knew it.
Next blog: why the 2nd year resident doctor at the teaching hospital had to stick his whole fist up my wife's vagina to see if the cervix was opening? why couldnt he just ask her?
Before we go any further, let me just say that I have no ideas what I am doing. This applies to multiple aspects of my life, including but not limited to, raising a child, writing a blog and being a good human being.
Let me sum up my life so far. so you know where my not so witty insight come from: Born in India, moved to L.A. at the age of 5, lost accent, grew up in L.A., college in CA, law school in CA, dated a lot, broke up a lot, drank a whole lot, smoked a whole lot, met girl, fell in love, moved to another part of CA, moved in with said girl, proposed to said girl, rejoiced when said girl said yes, married said girl, moved to city far from CA with very few Indians but big enough to have a football team, knocked up said girl, started this blog. Things happened in between all of that stuff of course, the interesting parts(usually the ones dealing with my devolution to a person who should not be allowed in society) I will try and retell as accurately as possible.
Now everyone I have talked to has said that my life is totally going to change when Junior arrives. The thing is, that I kind of enjoyed my life before one of my sperm defected from its "brief observation of vagina" only missions and decided to shack up in my wife's uterus for 9 months. We are 33 weeks into the defection with 7 weeks to go.
So when the little whippersnapper decides to enter this world and begin his life, it will most likely be the end of my life as I knew it.
Next blog: why the 2nd year resident doctor at the teaching hospital had to stick his whole fist up my wife's vagina to see if the cervix was opening? why couldnt he just ask her?
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