One of the Gay Uncle’s loyal readers dropped him a line this weekend to tell him the story of her recent shopping trip to Costco, and he thought it was worth it to share it with you, not only because it’s hilarious, but because it occurred in the suddenly-important state of Alaska. While wandering the aisles, this early childhood professional noticed a pair of moms, each with a three or four kids–and piles of junk food–in their carts. The kids seemed cute at first, but as she kept encountering them in the store (frequently near the free-sample stations), they became increasingly…less cute. As did the moms, who began scolding them repeatedly for infractions such as riding on the back of the cart, or poking the shrink-wrapped chicken thighs. Finally, Gunc’s reader felt like she’d lost them (she figured they were distracted by the supersized smoothie station). But as she was loading her groceries into her vehicle, she spotted them again in the parking lot. Their SUVs were right next to one another, and while one of the moms had her kids all buckled down into their seats, the other one decidedly did not, and they were running around freely in the cab of the enormous truck while mommy tried ineffectually to get them to be seated. Then suddenly, this mother of the free-range children suddenly became even more agitated and started shouting at her little rugrats, “Cut it out…don’t touch…stop it! I said don’t touch that GODDAMMIT SIT IN YOUR SEAT…stop it. Please stop it. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD”. At about the second “my”, the G.U.’s fan turned to see the SUV slowly rolling toward a construction fence, with Mom running alongside it, pulling on the locked passenger door handle. Fortunately for everyone, the vehicle stopped itself…by running gently into the fence. Strangely (or tellingly) the other mom seemed not to worry or get involved, signaling to the onlookers that this was not the first time something like this had happened.

Always one for lessons, the Gay Uncle asked his reader what she thought the lesson of this story was. She said the following:
“Um…if you are going to be a dip and let your child play in the car:
1. Set the parking brake or use wheel chucks (or)
2. Bring a friend who can run fast and who has decent upper body strength so s/he can help stop the car if it gets away?

Gunc feels like he agrees. But feel free to let loose with other lessons.

The G.U. has a new article out in the excellent parenting magazine Babble. This one is all about how, and how not, to get divorced. It’s such an exuberant piece, that he suspects that after reading it, you’ll want to drop whatever you’re doing (including your current spouse or partner), run out, and split up. Oh, and there’s a handy sidebar on page one about the three worst divorce stories he heard while doing his interviews. Click here to read.

Will this stream of writing never cease? The Gay Uncle has yet another piece up on Yahoo’s parenting site. Having given up on spanking, he’s moved onto pinching. Check it out.

The Gay Uncle now writes a weekly parenting column for Yahoo’s ladies’ site Shine (a moniker he doesn’t understand, unless it’s meant to refer to how women perspire…?) Well, this week, he got himself into a bit of hot water (sweat?) when he suggested to these Shiny readers that smacking one’s kids around might not be the most productive method of discipline. He provided what he believed was an intelligent and modulated approach to the subject, discussing the matter from the perspective of someone who’s studied child development extensively, and worked practically, successfully, and pretty-much spank free with literally tens of thousands of young kids. He didn’t expect anyone to repent, or re-consider the meaning of the corporeal upon reading it. He didn’t even expect anyone to read it. But what he got fully exceeded everything he didn’t expect: it’s the most popular piece on the site, and has garnered about twelve dozen comments from parents all over the country, around 98% of whom praised the utility, advisability, and downright necessity of their spanking their kids. This puzzles the Gay Uncle. Why would someone defend hitting a defenseless child? (Unless they’re really defensive.) And why would they go out of their way to extol the virtues of this practice, to call the Gay Uncle nasty names, and to commend their own parents for having the strength of mind (and arm, wrist, and hand) to smack them as children? Both of the G.U.’s parents hit him. He remembers his father chasing him around the house to capture and beat him, and recalls thinking how ridiculous and out of control his dad looked doing this. He also remembers his mother promising a paddling “when we get home”, a form of intentional torture, disconnected from the actual transgression, that borders on the sadistic. He’s over having any sort of debate about the subject. Spanking a child as a means of resolving a problem is immature, counterproductive, hypocritical, and a violation of everyone’s humanity–hittee and hitter alike. Plus, it is not a long-term plan. It is a reactive, momentary fix. And helping kids develop properly is nothing if not an enduring task. Don’t get the Gay Uncle wrong. Anyone who has read even a sentence of his book knows that he’s all for parents taking charge of situations with their kids (Pretend You’re the Grownup), of utilizing consistent, pro-active, and potitivist discipline, and of setting up clear expectations and boundaries and implementing real and direct consequences. But a grown up hitting little kids? You get a few passes in your life for losing it, so long as you’re contrite. But as a defensible practice? Get some shame.

Readers often contact the Gay Uncle wondering, “Is my kid insane?” This question is usually followed by an example of a behavior that seems odd to a parent who has only had direct experience with one or two kids, but feels perfectly normal to the G.U. who has had the chance to witness the actions of tens of thousands of burbling rugrats. One common related thread is: “Does my child have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder”? The answer is almost always, “No”. Kids love consistency, rhythm, and familiarity as it helps provide them with a template they can use to make sense of the constant onslaught of new information they’re expected to take in every day (and most everything is new to them, they’re so young!) So behaviors that are based in creating familiar patterns, are comforting, giving them a scaffolding around which they can build understanding. Similarly, their efforts to exert control over their surroundings, by attempting to create order in the chaos of their life, comes from the same source. So when they meticulously organize each of their thirteen-thousand Polly Pockets toys into a line that circumnavigates the house, or place their stuffed animals on the edge of their bed in reverse descending-order according to height and age, they’re more than likely not showing signs of mental illness. They’re showing signs of normal mental activity. Which is a good thing.

The Gay Uncle has a new article out in The Advocate on…Gay Uncling. What’s that expression about a serpent eating its tail? Click here to read.

The Gay Uncle traveled to Nashville this morning to work on a consulting project for a major toy manufacturer, and so he got to spend some time in the airport–one of his favorite places to mine for intriguing parenting strategies. (See this old column.) While waiting for his plane to board, and pretending to listen to his iPod, he managed to overhear a exemplary conversation between a nice, forty-something mom, and whoever she was speaking to on the other end of her cell phone. “A cheese stick. A squeezable yogurt. A juice box.” she listed, with patronizing and enforced patience. “Yes. For all three of them.” Gunc figured she was speaking (down) to her husband, who was befuddled regarding what to pack the kids for lunch–a somewhat familiar conversation he’s witnessed many times before. (In fact, he heard a colleague with whom he was traveling recently have this exact conversation with her hubby about lunch for their two daughters. He apparently followed her instructions for those meals, though when she returned, it was revealed that for dinner, he fed the girls McDonald’s three nights in a row.) Then Ms. First Class Traveler delivered the punchline. “It’s very sweet that you want to help while mommy’s away–you’re such a good girl. But you’re only eight. Your father should make your lunch and ones for your brothers.” The woman paused, sighed, and changed her phone over to her other ear. “Can you put daddy on the phone, please?”

The Gay Uncle’s second weekly column is up on True Mom Confessions. This one is about the wonderful world of spanking. Check it out.

Continuing with his rage and repudiation on the subject of Republican nominees and children’s literature, the Gay Uncle would like to call your attention to a new book that should definitively be banned from your personal collection. It’s called MY DAD, JOHN McCAIN, and is written by the Cain’t-Do senator’s daughter, Meghan. (Way to cash in, Meggie.) Some of the highlights cover the war hero’s hilarious exploits in the service, like when his plane was hit (OOPS!) and he bailed (WHEW!) but was captured and imprisoned (GOTCHA!). Nothing is mentioned about his returning home to find his formerly-hot first wife now crippled and haggy, and his immediate decision to ditch her for a newer, younger, politically-connected, and way richer model (KA-CHING!). There’s also little said about his opposition to making Martin Luther King’s birthday a public holiday (RACIST!). And since the book isn’t called MY MOM, CINDY McCAIN, there’s absolutely nothing about the potential first lady walking around blasted out of her mind on handfuls of Percoset that she stole from the medical charity she ran (LOOPY!) or the fact that Johnny didn’t even notice (OUT OF TOUCH!). There is, strangely, a picture of a computer, a tool which the ancient senator has publicly stated that he does not know how to use (EMAIL???). Sadly, there aren’t any honest images of a befuddled and idea-less candidate attempting to answer questions on how to fix a country that he and his party-mates have done their very best to ruin over the past eight years (DISASTROUS POLICIES!), of him handing out enormous corporate welfare benefits to the oil companies and Wall Street (SOCIALIZE THE RISK, PRIVATIZE THE PROFITS!), gunning for additional wars while miring us deeper in one we never should have started (NUKE IRAN!) or of generally supporting the wealthy while ignoring the plight of literally everyone else (OWNERSHIP SOCIETY!). Do you think your children will like living in this story? The Gay Uncle thinks it will mean the end of America. If you’re not interested in watching that happen, it’s time to take action now.

A reader recently sent the Gay Uncle a request for advice. She wrote: “Short of buying a bus, hiring drivers, or using duct tape, how can you stop the back seat battles/she’s touching me syndrome? Of course it is the 5 year old antagonizing the 10 & 12 year olds.” Gunc loves this question, and not only because it reminds him of his mother’s creative–and blind–administration of in-car justice with a plastic mixing spoon she kept in the driver’s side door pocket; or because it evokes his boyfriend Tal’s parents’ creative resolution of this issue, which involved encouraging their three kids to lean forward from their spots in the back seat, rest their chins on the rear of the front bench, and gnaw at the vinyl and padding there, creating a distracting trio of “chew holes”. He enjoys this query because the answer is somewhat counter-intuitive: the only real solution is to ignore your kids’ annoying little squabbles and let them find equilibrium. Of course, before you get in the car, you should lay down some expectations and ground rules–keep your hands to yourself, make sure all body parts remain inside the vehicle, give me that fifty grandma sent you for your birthday so I can afford to fill up the tank again. You can have the kids bring along one solitary something of their own to keep them focused on short trips–a book, an iPod, their Polly Pockets electrolysis salon. And you should certainly make your presence known as the voice of authority, reminding them of your expectations and rules in a positivist way (by stressing what you want them to do instead of what you don’t) before you set out. But if you’re constantly getting involved in their meaningless and petty fracas, then you’re validating it, and adding yourself into their dopey drama, and we all know that conflict is not usually eased through the incorporation of additional participants (see swarming bees, bench-clearing pro-hockey fights, Iraq). Remind them that the car is shared space, and tell them that you expect them to deal with this: to get along, to ignore one another’s needless needling, and generally to work shit out. Then turn up your music and drive. Of course, if you observe weapons being wielded, see your younger kid trying to put a chew-hole in the older one, or spot a stream of child blood spraying against the minivan’s side window, more drastic forms of intervention may be required. But give this a whirl. If the problem refuses to yield to this practice after a few weeks of consistent attempts, you can also start removing privileges that require you driving them around (going to friends’ houses, attending ballet class, obtaining fat/salt/starch/sugar slurry from fast-food drive-thrus) until such point as they can handle the rules of being the vehicle. Flight attendants don’t take any crap (and we’re paying dearly for our time on board their vehicles); why should your situation be any less bearable?