For Those About To Rock
I had the reverse happen this weekend. Every Saturday we somehow end up at Target. It’s an easy store to do one-stop shopping, plus the boy can run around and not get too far away. Target is one of those stores that does a lot of wallet-damage for us. We never leave without dropping $50 or more on things we really don’t need. This time however, the item I most desired, escaped me.
Our son inherits a ton of clothes from his cousin who is about nine months older than him. Most are in great condition, so rarely do we need more outfits. That doesn’t seem to stop these two dads every time we pass through the kid’s clothing section. We just believe it never hurts to get a new shirt or pair of slacks.
Dad #2 was over in the swimwear section salivating over this ’shark attack’ theme shirt & trunks combo. The kid has three swim trunks already, but I had to admit, this was a cute set. Into the cart it went. When all of sudden my eyes caught hold something on the other side the boys section.
You know those moments when your mind grabs hold of something before your brain can process it? Almost like a sixth sense, you instantly react and then marvel at your near-superhuman powers of response. I saw the shirt my boy must own.
You could have mistaken me for Jackie Joyner Kersee (except for being a gay white male, about 5’9, and missing the dreads and long finger nails.) as I ran near double speed to grab the only XXS shirt they had left. In my mind, it was a foot race between me and… Actually no one else was near, but AC/DC totally seemed like a reason to knock over the display of ½ price pajamas.
What better way to set up my young child to become respected among his peers? To be the envy of his friends. And for me to be known as the ultimate bitchin’ dad who lets his son wear this outfit to … well … room 4 of Creative Playland. Trust me, there will be envy there. Angus Young, totally kicking my Pretty Pony’s hindquarters.
I held up the shirt high to show my partner like a beer bong at a fraternity party. The ultimate sign of manhood dangling from a plastic hanger. My other hand shot up in the air with the index finger and pinky extended as I shouted across menswear, “Rock ON, my little man.”
And he laughed; my partner just laughed. Years of heavy metal pride seeped from my pours in anguish. After all, I camped out for two days to get Telsa/Poison tickets in Cincinnati. What better way to pass on a legacy to my son then with 80’s metal?
I pleaded for the shirt. “Please, let me, I mean him get it. He really wants it. He looks good in black. He looks good in … ‘Back in Black’.” Instinctively, I reached for my air guitar and hit the most amazing C chord. You should have heard it. MAGIC!
And that was when I lost my case. Dad #2 looked over and said, “No way am I having two little boys in my house singing Skid Road.”
(UGH. Skid Row you lame duck.)
So we went home. My (ARGH), I mean his AC/DC shirt left hanging there for some undeserving child to pick up and wear while finger painting. No art of the Brian Young screeches being passed down from generation to generation. Instead, we have ‘shark attack’ swim trunks. Yippee!
We checked in with his moms this morning and I forewarned them of the sad state they might encounter with our son. His depression would most likely have to be monitored for the next few weeks. I told them I would begin putting money away for future therapy.
And Mom #1’s response to all of this. “We have three AC/DC CD’s at home and play Dirty Deeds all the time.”
WE SALUTE YOU!