The G-Man and I are walking that fine line, that tiny, little stretch of DMZ between “Momma, can you wipe my ass?” and “Ma, can I borrow the car?” He’s this cool, little person with his own personality and he’s too young to hate me. So, we get to hang out. We watch movies together, talk about music, go to bookstores. It helps that I’m going through a belated adolescence and share many of his interests. This might not work if I was still in what I like to call my “Natalie Merchant” phase. That’s the time in a young woman’s life when she takes herself and everything in her life waaayyy too seriously. Too much Nina Simone, (and not the Put Some Sugar in My Bowl-Nina) not enough Kylie Minogue. Too much Meryl Streep, not enough Lindsey Lohan. That’s the time when you just can’t appreciate that a song like Baby Got Back is a positive, feminist manifesto. It’s a sad, serious, sensible shoes and Michael Stipe kind of time. No fun at all.
It helps that I’m out of that phase. G’s friends all think that I’m the “cool mom.” Of course, once you label yourself the “cool mom” you become immediately uncool. There’s nothing lamer than a 30+ year old adult trying to impress a bunch of third graders. To take the piss out of myself, I once joked with the G-Man that I almost won “Coolest Mom in New England,” but I lost to a lady from Hartford, Connecticut who was a champion Dance, Dance, Revolution player. “If only we had PlayStation2, instead of GameCube,” I lamented.
The funny thing is, as hip and sarcastic as the G-Man can be, he tends to be a bit literal. Yesterday, he got a pretty good report card, so I took him to the local comic book store. The last time we were there, G asked Comic-Book-Guy-Bob about Silver Surfer—who is he? what’s his story? When we stopped in last night, the CBGB had put aside three, 25 year-old, Silver Surfer issues for my boy—gratis. G was appropriately surprised and grateful, “What’s this for?” he asked.
“Consider it part of your ‘Good Report Card’ comic books,” I offered.
“You get comic books for a good report card?” CBGB asked, “You‘ve got a cool mom, there.”
“Coolest in five states,” stated the G-Man, “Damn that Dance, Dance, Revolution.”
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