Brett Berk

The Gay Uncle rushes into the loving embrace of his family this week, meeting up with them, as he does every year, for their annual Passover-By-The-Pool celebration in the Florida Keys. Besides providing him with a tan, a perpetual hangover, and a host of new material, G.U. relishes the chance to immerse himself in the increasingly tangled web of what some experts call his “blended family” (but which he refers to more frequently as his “blendered family”). Extra credit for anyone who can follow the attendance list: Both of his parents–divorced now for twenty six years–will be in attendance, as will his three siblings and their partners. And his father’s brother. Following in mom and dad’s footsteps, his sister’s ex-husband always makes an impromptu appearance. Of course, his sister’s current boyfriend will be present, with the four loving nieces they’ve sired between them. His common-law brother-in-law will hopefully bring his parents, and more than likely his lovely ex-wife and her current husband will pop by too. The ex-wife’s parents live in town as well, so there’s hope that they’ll stop in. His younger brother’s girlfriend’s mother often joins, and sometimes brings a new internet friend. “Uncle” Lawrence, one of Gunc’s closest friends from New York usually manages to jet in for a few days. And G.U. will be sure to set a few extra places for the assorted lounge singers, bar hoppers, bar owners, and drag queens that make up his mother’s makeshift “tribe” down there. It’s only fortunate that neither of G.U.’s other two siblings have any children, or we’d need to graft even more branches to this family thicket (forest? mangrove swamp?) He’s been thinking, maybe it’s simpler just to pulp the whole family tree. Add a little ice, juice, and rum, and you have a frozen drink. Plus, in this form, one can simply keep it all in the pool.

During the course of his twenty years working with young kids, the Gay Uncle has learned that there are certain inalienable rules governing children’s behavior. When running across a paved surface, a child will fall. When given a piece of chocolate cake, they will end up with frosting in their nose. And when asked open-endedly what they want to wear that day, they will choose something that closely resembles a Halloween costume or one of the Village People. So when his sister Roxy called to tell him the story of what transpired after a customer at her restaurant ordered a sixteen ounce fruit smoothie (served in a chilled pint glass) and gave it to her five year old, he was anything but shocked to learn that, after less than one sip, the beverage and its container ended up on the tile floor in a runny pile of yogurty shards. What was surprising was the way the child’s mother responded, grabbing the girl by her arm, dragging her feet through the mess, and yelling at her point-blank: “You are ruining my day.” This is akin to handing a child a fat red crayon, pointing them in the direction of a white wall, and then scolding them for “ruining my plaster.” (You gave her the gun, loaded it, and turned off the safety; should you really be surprised when it goes off?) Even more surprising was the way this mommy defied the unspoken kid rule–which covers ice cream, soda, and even smoothies: The first disastrous spill is always forgiven. When the waitress approached offering a no-cost replacement “Maybe in a smaller paper cup with a lid this time…?” the mother scowled at her daughter and shooed the server off. “No way. She is done here.”

The Gay Uncle is not a huge fan of receiving videos of people’s children. Not because kids aren’t darling and hilarious. They are. But, most of the time, when folks send clips to the G.U., they’re of things that are inane (infants sleeping); humiliating (parents singing to their offspring); boring (birthday parties where no one throws cake);or gross (birth). This point was driven home today, when Gunc was forwarded a QuickTime file from an old family friend. He’d already seen these people’s most recent on-line Christmas card, in which the family members’ heads were hauntingly transposed onto a herd of animated reindeer who danced (rather poorly) to Frosty the Snowman. So, since the link was described by the sender as “cute” he figured it might simply be another holiday click-and-add. He imagined hopping clip-art Easter bunnies, a bloodless re-enactment of the crucifixion, or maybe–since Passover was coming–some sort of Busby-Berkeley inspired ten plagues choreography. Instead, the film was of the couple’s young son receiving an Electro Encephalo Graph (E.E.G.) No matter how, or how many times, G.U. views this footage, he cannot convince himself that there is anything charming or adorable about a three year old kid with eighteen needles taped into his skull lying prone and anesthetized on a sterile-paper-covered table and having his brain waves scanned. (E.E.K.!!) Why, he wants to know, must this now be downloaded into his cerebral hard drive. He also wants to know: What are the contents of the strangest Kideo clip you’ve received? Let him know below in the Comments section.

The Gay Uncle is heading out to visit his in-laws for the weekend, but before he goes, he wants to do a little something to help spread the word about gay uncledom (and, more specifically, about his book.) Can you help him achieve this laudable goal? Forward a link to this site to two friends who don’t already know about the wondrous world of G.U. and ask them if they could please do the same. Then they’ll tell two friends. And they’ll tell two friends. And so on. And so on. And so on…

The Gay Uncle heard an interesting tale in his recent travels, that of a three year old girl who’d been tantrumming. Now, the G.U. generally has some great–if counterintuitive–advice about dealing with kids’ rages, suggesting that you treat them in much the same way the Forest Service deals with fires in the National Parks: build a firebreak about the flames and let them burn out (see chapter 4: Pouring Water on a Grease Fire). But this girl’s fits were a standard deviation or two beyond the norm. When she didn’t get her way, she tore through the house flipping over tables and yanking appliances out of socket like some abusive husband in a bad Lifetime movie. She even once pulled the flat-screen TV off it’s perch atop its console, and we all know the cardinal rule of every aspirational household: do not fuck with the flat screen! Given the extreme nature of this behavior, Gunc’s first response was to question what else was going on in the home. The list was relatively lengthy: bitter divorce, both parents recently moved, custody battle, no cooperation on how to deal with the kid. I’d be in a tizzy as well (what the G.U. calls a Pink Rage). There is no quickie Q&A-at-a-book-signing-type solution for these kinds of tantrums. But remember, your child’s responses to emotional situations–and thus the neural pathways their little brains are creating and will be using to deal with things for the rest of their lives–are profoundly shaped by what you do and how you act and react. Kids are resilient and they can handle change, even major change, effectively, but only if the adults around them–the people ostensibly in charge of the world–are acting like grown ups. During heightened emotional times–like during a divorce, a move, a sample sale–it is important to step out of the (Divorcing) Parenting Bubble and focus first on your child’s needs for some form of stability. The Gay Uncle recommended professional help (for the parents!) and maybe a nice long hug for the little rage-aholic.

No, not that kind of Boston Marriage. The kind the Gay Uncle witnessed when he was in Beantown this past weekend, staying with his friends Clarisse and Miguel in their gentrifier’s paradise–a gorgeous row house in an “up and coming” part of town (though, as Miguel said, “Not as up and coming as we’d hoped it would be by now”). Through scripming and saving and buying eight years ago–and electing to live in this marginal neighborhood–Gunc’s friends were able to purchase a house with a rental unit, and they’ve installed as a tenant a student teacher at their daughter’s elementary school. In exchange for a reduction in rent, the girl provides a set number of hours of babysitting each month, they just have to schedule their time away from home a week in advance. This seemed like a great arrangement to the G.U., and while it doesn’t need to be predicated on being a slumlord like his pals, the idea of pre-paying for x amount of kid-freeness seems like it would a) guarantee some grown up time for the grown ups, b) force the adults to take advantage of this time–to see their friends, complete some business, get a cheapy massage at the reflexology place in the mini-mall, and c) make leaving the kids more routine, thus limiting the strumming of heart-stings, the invocation of guilt, and other familiar getting-out-of-the-house drama (see Chapter 1 of the book: Sinking the Stockholm Syndrome) The Gay Uncle isn’t saying you should go out every night, but it’s important–for yourself and for your kids–for you to be a person as well as a parent. What do you think of this idea?

In addition to his screed below, for the sake of an upcoming essay, G.U. wants to know: what is the very most mind-numbingly dumbest recent baby/parenting product you’ve seen? Send links along with your descriptions where possible.

The Gay Uncle received a challenging review from a friend the other day. “I like the book, and the stories are funny,” this mom of a six month-old stated, “but I’m not so sure about the way you’re always telling people to be the grown up, and be in control of situations with their kids. It doesn’t seem fair. What kind of dynamic is that setting up in our family, where the adults are always in charge?”

G.U. has heard this protest before, and while he understands the cultural drive toward instilling democracy (echoes of nation-building?) his answer is relatively simple: You are creating a family in which your child feels safe, secure, and certain that you know more than they do. The reason behind this is simple: YOUR CHILD IS NOT YOUR EQUAL. If you honestly believe that it somehow has the skills or ability to debate with you about what makes up a nutritious meal, when an appropriate bedtime should be, or whether or not your should move to Colorado, perhaps you should do a brain-scan comparison. Your kid’s mind and capabilities are just developing. Yours are (or should be) somewhat more fully developed.

The relationship between parent and young child should not by any means be a tyrannical one. (GUG frowns on tyranny of any sort…except when play-acted in the bedroom between two consenting adults). Kids should feel as though they have agency, should be allowed to make relevant decisions, and above all should feel like life is fun and enjoyable. And you should certainly be aware of and listen to your child’s input, actions, and feelings. But they call it “parenting” for a reason. (Hint: YOU are the parent part of this equation.) Your child is your dependent. That means they depend on you to show them the way. This is why evolutionary biology waited for you to become an adult (or at least a post-adolescent) before allowing you to develop the possibility of making children. Own your role.

The Gay Uncle needs your help. He’s been asked to come up with a seasonally relevant essay topic for a national media outlet and while he has a proprietary take on the issues related to packing for summer vacations, prepping for autumn’s back-to-school, and the tedious dressing and undressing associated with winter wardrobes, he’s not so clear on what parents struggle with in the spring: Deciding whether or not to place partnerless mittens into storage? Mud? The irritatingly inexorable nature of the cycle of life? Help him out by submitting your spring essay ideas in the COMMENTS space below. Winner receives a shout-out if this thing actually happens.

The Gay Uncle is trapped in a car dealership this morning, waiting for his automobile to be serviced. You may not know this, but G.U. is something of a car freak–posters on his wall as an adolescent, daily reader of blogs like Jalopnik, owner of vintage vehicles, fully familiar with the function of all of those greasy mechanisms under an automobile’s hood. He even wrote a novel set in the auto industry, which is currently seeking a home in the New York publishing world. He’s from Detroit, so that’s part of the explanation. But so is his older–and straight!–brother, and he doesn’t care a whit about cars; he doesn’t even own one! (Younger brother has the bug: two SAABs, including a rare Sonnet III.) Anyway, the point is, there is a small child in the dealership waiting room with him right now, and the boy is whining, shredding brochures, putting his greasy mitts all over the glossy display models, and otherwise making a nuisance of himself. If G.U. were not so polite about not calling strangers out on their poor parenting, he would gesture meaningfully toward the sign hanging above the Service Manager’s desk.

NEW YORK STATE LAW REQUIRES ALL CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF SEVEN TO BE RESTRAINED IN A FEDERALLY APPROVED CHILD RESTRAINT SYSTEM.

Hey, it doesn’t say anything about the kid being in a moving vehicle!