Mr. Kamikaze, just resurfacing from a deep-space investigation that has left him blinking, wide-eyed in disbelief at the landscape of the suburban homestead, offers some parenting advice from another planet:
What the fuck is he even talking about?
Here on the homefront, which Mr. K. regularly abandons in the interests of truth, justice and mortgage payments, we are up to our necks in deadline writing, biology homework, college applications and at least one romantic debacle. There is barely time for figure skating.
So when he emerges from some dimly-lit parking garage long enough to weigh in on parenting issues, it can be like hearing a voice coming out of the toaster. What the hell is that?
Sometimes, the toaster pops ups with uncommonly good ideas.
Sometimes it's like toast from another planet. "You think the kids learned words like "fuck" from me?" I say.
"No," he says. "I think they learn that it's acceptable from you."
At this point, I am laughing so hard, I can barely get a word out. "So, wait," I say finally. "You think the children are more likely to do something if it seems acceptable to me?"
He actually does. It's fucking adorable.