Brett Berk

Last week, the Gay Uncle’s younger brother’s band, The High Strung, played a show at a library on the U.S. Military base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. And that was the least weird part of their trip. Read Gunc’s piece about their adventure on Vanity Fair’s website. Click here.

The Gay Uncle happens to live about ten minutes away from the site where the fabled Woodstock concert took place. For those of you who don’t know (or care) this is in a town in Western Sullivan County a good 75 minutes away from the actual village of Woodstock. Now on the site is a beautiful outdoor concert venue with seats for some 15,000 ticketed concertgoers, where, over the past few summers, Gunc was “fortunate” enough to see lame acts like Earth Wind & Fire (shot voices, sucky choreography) and Donna Summer (shot voice, sucky choreography, embarrassing props and costumes). This weekend, there’s some sort of Woodstock Reunion event going on over there. The G.U. hates hippies–both the vintage, and the neo- varieties–and he doesn’t happen to think that Richie Havens, the surviving members of Jefferson Airplane, or anyone who was ever in Sha Na Na qualify for the category of musical genius, nor would he pay money to see them wheel themselves about the stage in their motorized chairs or walkers. He also thinks that day-long outdoor concerts constitute a form of torture tantamount to waterboarding, but practiced with immersion in sun, overpriced wrap sandwiches, and smelly attendees. Finally, and more in connection with this site, he’s sick of hearing about how a baby (or maybe 2 or 3) was born during this disgusting, indulgent, Baby-Boomer mud-fest. The Gay Uncle was also born in 1969. He knows his generation’s penchant for obscure forms and sources of fame. If any kid actually slithered out of his mother’s vag during that concert, he or she would have turned up online, in a band, or on some third-rate, D-list celebrity reality show by this point. Also: Who cares?

In honor of the 40th anniversary, Gunc would like to say this: Fuck Woodstock! Can we all stop talking about it now?

Well, not exactly. But one of the Gay Uncle’s good friend’s kids recently had a mishap at a local playground. Her kid is kind of a clutz, so when he did a face-plant–tripping over some invisible surface defect near the swings–she didn’t think much of it. Until she rolled him over and found his entire visage covered in a growing film of blood. She’s not exactly clear on the sequence of events that followed this discovery, but the next thing she knew, she was hauling ass down Bedford Avenue, her two year-old son clutched to her chest, screaming and trying to hail a cab. Needless to say, people moved out of her way. Even people with strollers. By the time she reached the pediatrician’s office, the bleeding had pretty much stopped–it was from the nose, and we all know how the nose gushes whatever liquid it feels like gushing. Or, it had at least stopped coming out of the child. It was all over her outfit, and her neck and arms. “I looked like Carrie after the prom,” she told Gunc. Of course, after this adventure, she had to rush right back to the park. “I left my cell phone there. I left my bag there. I left my stroller there. Everything. All the other moms were like, Um, are you okay? Of course, none of them had really offered to help when it happened. But people stopped me for weeks after to ask about it. You could hear them whispering, There’s the mom who was covered in blood and running down the street.”

What is the point of this story (besides invoking the Gay Uncle’s love of prurience)? It is this: contemporary parents often think they don’t know what they would do in a real emergency, or how they would respond when something goes wrong with their kid. But they’re wrong. While they may make hideous mistakes in terms of core everyday practices like discipline, feeding, toileting, and even talking to their children in an age appropriate, actionable, and useful manner (and thus are all desperately in need of the G.U.’s book The Gay Uncle’s Guide to Parenting) when it comes to a crisis, if you just trust your gut–the fight or flight instinct–you’ll probably do okay. This, however, won’t stop all those other bitches on the playground from talking about you for the rest of your life. For that, you might just have to pull of your earrings and get ready to beat some mommy ass.

This week, in his MOMLOGIC column, The Gay Uncle talks shit about that nice mommy, who pulled her child around a phone store on a leash. Though she was later arrested for child abuse, he still things that maybe this should become a new Olympic sport! Check it out.

The Gay Uncle just returned from a trip to the beach with his friend Danika, and her two daughters Erica, 9 and Anna, 6. Perhaps Gunc is losing his edge, or maybe the kids (and parents) have just mellowed with age, but he didn’t bear witness to any major problems. This was sort of disappointing to him, since he lives for conflict. What he did discover was one niggling and ongoing issue: tone. He’s not one of those people who wants kids to beg for everything with pandering and complimentary language, calling adults ma’am and sir, or formally saying please and thank you very much when asking for the mustard. And he certainly understands that kids live in the present tense and the immediate, and when they have a desire, they feel the urge to act on it. He even gets that children are, by their very nature, excitable and egocentric. But this doesn’t mean they can’t be asked to break out of these habits, especially once they hit the second half of their first decade, and be expected to learn NOT to whine and repeatedly demand their every whim be catered to as soon as the thought enters their head, and issue invectives like “Give me that shovel!” or “Put me in my floaty toy!” or “Make me a grilled cheese!” to anyone, adult or child alike.

Of course, like everything with young kids, this isn’t accomplished by screaming and acting like the world is on fire whenever they transgress. This kind of extreme (and exciting) reaction only tends to reinforce the behavior. It is more productively accomplished by simply stating why this is perhaps not the best means to convince someone to do your bidding, providing another option, or just reminding the child that it is not possible for you to do what they want right that moment because you are engaged in something else and that you’re happy to help once you’re done. If they persist, put the onus on them to figure it out. “What did I just say I was doing? That’s right, taking off my shoes. So, can I go in the water yet?” This not only pulls them out of their own need state, it forces them to analyze the world around them, and accustom themselves to the idea that others have needs too. This may seem obvious to you, but it isn’t to a kid. If all that doesn’t work, simply ignore them. There is little more satisfying than tuning out an annoying child.

The Gay Uncle’s friend Anna Louise Ogden Padgett (her real name) is a preschool teacher, and a musician. She recorded and performed with her band the Naysayer for years. Then she had a kid. And like most people who have kids, her life collapsed around her in a shitstorm of breastfeeding, diapers, and, well…shit itself. But did that stop her? No. Not this smart and savvy Texas girl. What did she do? She did what every other musician with a kid does, she recorded an album of kids’ music! If it can work to revive the careers of people like Rick Springfield and Ziggy Marley–and win a Grammy for too-clever-by-half indie daddies They Might Be Giants–there must be some magic in it. So Gunc gave The Good Ms. Padgett a listen.

Sadly, The G.U. doesn’t really know how to respond to children’s music. When he ran a preschool in Manhattan’s East Village, he never touched the stuff. There was an old record player in the classroom, and he would play albums he picked up for pennies at junk shops by his weekend place in the Catskills: Louis Prima, Tito Puente, Persuasive Percussion does Cha-Cha, Dionne Warwick sings Burt Bacharach, Gil Scott Heron. Or he’d make up songs with the kids while out walking around the neighborhood. More than one now-teenage former student has told him that they cannot wait for the walk signal without thinking of the Gay Uncle’s hit, “Across the Street”.

All that said, he thinks your kid might like Anna’s album. It’s funny. It has instructions for how to move along to it, which he knows children appreciate since they’re kind of dim and lack creativity. And, most importantly–for him, and for young kids–it has a scatological bent, featuring songs like “I’m a Little Girl with Doodoo in My Pants” and the Gay Uncle’s favorite, “Don’t Put Your Feet in Your Doodoo”. So what are you waiting for? Click here and listen and purchase.

The Mombian threw the Gay Uncle some love this week for his takedown of TIME Magazine’s dumb kids & gender article. Throw her some back by paying her site a visit. She’s smart and funny, and a nice, curly-headed lesbian. Click here.

The Gay Uncle’s other regular column–Vanity Fair car blog Stick Shift–turns one today. So roll on over, say hi, and help them mow down the giant brown penis standing in front of their birthday cake. Don’t forget to make a wish!

The Gay Uncle believes that kids should eat healthy, balanced meals. He believes that they should be physically active and allowed plenty of time for free play and exploration instead of being locked in the “safety” of their homes. When he ran his own preschool, he even went so far as to institute a no junk rule for kids’ lunches, which was enforced with patronizing notes to parents, and the removal of offending items–returned to the parents, along with the patronizing note, at day’s end. (It worked.) But he also believes that kids are entitled to a certain amount of junk, and need exposure to it in order to develop a healthy relationship with food. Think of it on the vaccine model. (For a very intelligent explanation as to why, check out his seminal article “In Praise of Junk”.) So you know what really burns him up? This lady, the appropriately named MeMe Roth, who has been on a rampage against birthday cupcakes in the tri-state area recently, to deleterious effect (for her, and her kids, mostly). He’s not proposing that some of her issues are without merit. (He hates Santa too.) Or even that there’s some sort of crisis in our food system. What he’s suggesting is that she fucking chill out before she gives herself a coronary.

Repeat after Gunc: cupcakes are not instruments of the devil. They’re a treat. And like everything that falls in that category–cookies, Flaming Hot Cheetos, The Real Housewives of New York–they’re best consumed occasionally, and in moderation. If we teach kids these skills, they learn them. If we wave our hands around and scream about them and write declarative and inflammatory emails in ALL CAPS, we alienate everyone and our message is not heard.

This week, in his MOMLOGIC column, The Gay Uncle takes on Time magazine’s interpretation of a recent NIMH study on kids and gender. When it comes to this subject, nothing is ever as simple as it seems, even (especially) the teenage brain.

Check it out