Dad Entry #149

It's interesting, and nostalgic, to list the things my children may never lay eyes on, or take seriously, or witness being used proudly for their original purpose or effect. And all because they were born in the new millennium. Examples? Cassette tapes, dial telephones, short-sleeves with neckties, Zubaz. Actually, outrageous bodybuilding getups are alive and well. But these are cringe-worthy things I never cringed at (except for Zubaz). My children however, would shudder with awkwardness, pity, or confusion at one and all. Think of the clever but clumsy technology we endured, or the interior design concepts that flamed-out spectacularly. There are things vivid in my memory that will be incomprehensible to my kids. NFL running backs without tattoos. Tight NBA shorts. Pros like Spud Web. Mr. Rogers. Alarm clocks with bells. Big, fat, 700 pound tube televisions. Big, fat technology of any kind. The Atari 2600. Phallic joysticks, simple joysticks, the word joystick (not as innuendo). Wood-paneled walls. Telephone cords. TVs with zero remotes but several humongous, uncooperative, telescopic antennas augmented by coat-hangers. Rap without obscenity. Pants above the waist. Perms. Sky-high bangs. Hairspray as a cornerstone of heavy metal (think of the ozone we're saving now). Ashtrays in vehicles. Smoking in an airplane, smoking in the dugout, smoking in a restaurant. Megan is 7 and Michael is 9 and neither have seen a record spin. Sound, of course, is part of this miracle, but visually it's also remarkable and open; you can see the needle - with intricate suspension - surfing the grooves, and there are enormous dials, buttons, and switches involved too, and amber-tinted plastic. I know some things will circle back. Fashion is fickle and startling. Lately I've seen decorative stitching on pants worn by men. At one point, I might've taken for granted the extinction of corduroy, bell-bottoms, boots with zippers, parachute pants, break-dancing, acid-washed denim jackets, and tight-rolled jeans. Wrong-o!

The kids are expert-builders with Legos. Their stuff is like Frank Lloyd Wright meets the Swiss Family Robinson (mixed with a child's imagination, enthusiasm, and disregard for proportion and building codes). Not surprisingly, Megan uses more color; she loves pastels and pinks. Michael uses gunmetal gray. Meg builds homes with fabulous bedrooms, kitchens, and windows. She makes salons and stables. Her interiors have artwork, potted flowers, and bowls of fruit. Michael's structures lack amenities that Megan would never overlook, but his aircraft hangars and weapons rooms are impressive. They are elaborate and precisely functional. If his kingdom were to advance across the Lego table and attack Megan's, his stockpiles of guns, swords, spears, halberds, axes, and lightsabers would wreak bloody havoc during the siege. But warfare requires rations, and Michael has none; Megan hoards all the food. (Lego makes carrot sticks, fish, turkeys, apples, bananas, grapes, pizzas, dishes and utensils now, small but obvious pieces.) I'm starting to think the Lego table, with boy on one side and girl on the other, goes a long way in divulging key differences between the male and female of our great species.