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wee bairn

The Lion King

January 15, 2021 by Rob

Friday Family Movie Night usually goes off just fine but our Girl wanted to have no part of How to Train Your Dragon.  Disney+ holds a wealth of films, many I truly enjoyed as a kid 1. So we clicked over to the Lion King, the 1994 animated version rather than the creepy, digitally animatronic “live action” version. 

Like most middle-aged women, I’m partial to Timon and Pumbaa.  

I’m sure I’d be a “republican” if I was otherwise a subject of the Crown. In art as in life, no woman is an island; no person is imbued by an unseen force with the magical power to “Save Us All.”  At least in theory, our leaders earn their role, they work toward it, we choose them.  Leaders are not marked by the noodle-y appendage of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or a clutch of old men in flowing robes.2

Simba is King because he is the son of the King.  When Scar killed Mufasa and Simba Fled, Scar became king. All lions bowed to him.

Simba spent his days lounging with Timon and Pumbaa.  They are, as explained in the catchy song, lazy and carefree. What lessons they taught Simba so he could actually lead a people King, we don’t know. We know he grew up, grew a mane, grew powerful. We only know that he was still Mufasa’s son.

The other Lions in the pride – seemingly only female lions – waited for a hero to show himself.  When Simba arrived, and roared, everyone cowered.  Holy shit! He was King.  The power was in him all along!  He was the Chosen One who could Save them All! 

Leaders learn their craft. And whether they admit it or not, leaders can lead because they work with people who want them to be successful. Leaders tell their “people” a story that they want to hear, about who they want to be. For some that comes naturally. For most it’s a skill that leaders need to develop and nurture.

This story, like too many movies, like nearly all Disney movies, waves that way. Leaders just are!, it says, while waving away all the learning and hard work and coalition building good, successful leaders need to do.  It erases the lives and labor of those many who work to make leaders good successful.

Lion King: Keep the songs, lose the film. 

  1. Sadly, not a single copy of an unmolested Star Wars. Holding it online has given Lucas the opportunity to eternally fuck with it. With literally all the money in the world and a hyperfocus on Fan Service, Disney could do this one thing for me. ↩
  2. Maybe the lizard people have a hand in it ↩

Filed Under: Friday Fun Family Movie Night Tagged With: 1 star, animated, animation, friday family movie night, how to train your dragon, leadership, lion king, movie, pumbaa, timon, wee bairn

Present, In Line, Continued

July 9, 2018 by Rob

[Read the first part Present, In Line]

Patiently, the wee Bairn and I stood with the other families waiting to make our own pinewood windmill for Mother’s Day.  I held her little hand and we talked: what  would do when we got to the front of the line; what plants and flowers should we look for; should I get a new Weber gas grill.1  Even so young, it is one of the great pleasures of Fatherhood for me to watch the Bairn observe the world, people, and parents, create unique thoughts and ideas and state them.  Our conversations make me smile and laugh and appreciate this tiny person next to me. 

We’re not alone, obviously, so I’m on edge because, while the line is moving, and quickly, it’s chaotic and loud and there’s only one person holding back the tide of eager and aggressive parents and she’s either gonna get knocked over or run out of supplies before we get into the classroom.  We should go elsewhere, I think, to Michael’s to get our own project, or pillage my home scrap pile.

We don’t.  We stay.  The Bairn likes people.  A peek at my phone and I know that we had only been there a few minutes since we started at the back and the line  halved.  So what if they run out?  I was enjoying my time with my daughter.

When we stepped in line, I saw that many kids had their own tiny Home Depot smocks on.  When I registered the Wee Bairn (which I gather that no one else had done) the confirmation suggested she’d get one for attending.  I asked the woman two places in front of me (because the guy just in front of us had shut off the world for his phone; more later) if A) we were in the correct line for the project, and B) if kids got the smock at the front.  She looked at me, zero expression, said ‘Yes’ and then pulled out her iPhone.  Conversation done.

The other families were the usual mix I’ve come to really appreciate in our East Coast Elite Bubble.  Watching them was a little like my own version of Hitchcock’s Rear Window.

At the very back of the line was a Dad and son, white, dressed like they had just come from the back nine.  He was loud (so loud), shouting, to no one in particular, about how long the line was and wondering why nobody was paying attention.  Anytime a gap grew in the line, he’d point it out.  “HEADS UP!”  No one listened.  “WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING!”  Obvious to everyone else: he held no authority.  His paycheck, dick, and skin-tone didn’t rate in that line.  People were paying attention to their own kids.  Trying to tune him out, like me.  Eventually he announced his attention to pick up some wood from the cutoff pile and build their own project.

Disappointing his kid to own the libs, as they say on the Twitter machine.

There were many mothers in line, with friends and all of their children.  When loser to the front, Dad and their older kids joined, swelling the line.2    The parents asked questions in Spanish; the kids answered in English.  I wondered if they were the wives of construction workers and home builders, minding the kids while their husbands shopped for tools and supplies and checked out at the contractor line.  Their kids were quiet and exceptionally polite.  I’m not a big family guy, but I wish the Bairn lived closer to her cousins.

Everyone checks their phones.3, trying to tune out the noise of the store, the line, the creeping doubt about whether it was even worth it.  Their children. 

The father directly in front of us was scratching around gems in a Bejewelled-clone on his phone and holding for too long any place he could comfortably rest his ass, even as the line moved forward without him (HEADS UP THE LINE IS MOVING!, shouted the guy at the back before he split in huff).  The kid spun in place, silently, in tight circles, while Dad zoned out.

Kid weaved between shopper’s legs.  Shoppers with lengths of carpet, tiles, handsaws.

He tripped over a woman’s feet. 

He knocked over 10′ lengths of wood trim. 

Dad: nothing.

Only when the kid started pounding on the metal door to the classroom did Dad look up.  A Mom shouting “Who’s son is this?”  He grabbed the kid by the arm, pulled him to his side, and went back to his game

All of this happened within less than 5 minutes.  No time at all.  And meanwhile, my kid, my Bairn, stood next to me with her hand in mine, also watching the people, asking about and waving to other kids, talking about what we were going to build and what we were going to do after.

If I had spoke to that father, if he had asked (it’s not my place to put pressure on another Dad; as I don’t believe any woman has the right to question how my wife mothers) and only if he had asked, I would let him know how much improved my life has been from just talking with my wee bairn, spending some time in my day to see the world from three feet small.

There are times when she lays out flat on the floor of the Giant Supermarket.  When I’d like to pick her up, put her in the car, take her home, and lock her in her room until dinner time.  But they are nothing compared to the sheer joy of watching her be excited by nearly everything that’s happening around her.  The Bairn was excited, frantically so, to go with her dad to the Home Depot on a beautiful Saturday morning and make a present for her mama (which, incidentally, she kept for her self, so it was a good thing that Dad had many backups).  And I was excited to hear the hilariously bananas ideas that come out of her little mouth.

We built the little windmill planter.  No paint, but all of the stickers.  I did most of the building; she held the hammer, too, while I tapped nails into place.  The Bairn got a smock and a pin to take home.  We planted some beans in the small planter cup and watered them.  They sprouted, but didn’t make it to July.

***

A new mother mentioned, on line, how grateful she was when her husband came home from work with an iced coffee and took their child off of her hands for a few minutes.  I wondered if the bar for successful fatherhood was really that low; that doing the bare minimum is worthy of ebullient public praise?

I guess the answer, at least sometimes, is yes.

Men can do better.

  1. The answer was ‘Yes,’ so I did and SWMNBB was very, very excited that grilling would no longer include time to get the damned charcoal lit. ↩
  2. The cranky, privileged version of me can get burned up at this sort of thing.  But, really, would it be better to have all 10 family members in line at the same time?  No. ↩
  3. I’m not immune from this disorder and even with 1001 really good and observant questions coming @ me from the Bairn, I slip. ↩

Filed Under: Got No Truck Tagged With: dad, don't panic, fb, home depot, mansplain, mom, mother's day, patience, present, spanish, wee bairn, woodwork

Cheaper the Crook, The Gaudier the Patter Week 16

April 22, 2018 by Rob

The last few weeks have been such a tremendous global cluster frak that I haven’t been much interested in boring you, my dedicated reader, with my hottest hot takes.  It’ certainly has been our worst, but it’s absolutely not our best.  Still, like a circus bear on roller skates, we keep rolling forward.

ITEM: Multi-day festivals like Coachella sound like a fucking nightmare: tweens dressed for a fashion show, minor celebrities, drugs and drink.  The heat and bodies and portajohns.  I wouldn’t have done it 20 years ago.  I honestly don’t care about Beyonce and I don’t believe that you do either.  That’s okay; I’m not her target demo.

ITEM: I’d rather go to the zoo and see baby gorillas and brand new elephants and ride the carousel three times in a row on a rainy Sunday morning.  Living our best lives. Adopt an elephant or a gorilla.  Get a FONZ membership.

ITEM: War on Drugs was playing while I stood in line at the Giant tonight.  I’m old. 

ITEM: A Tale of Two Waffle Houses:  First, black man saves his own ass and God knows how many other people by wrestling a rifle from a white, pantsless assassin.  Second, a girl is tackled and stripped naked by three white cops for questioning a 50 cent charge for plastic cutlery on a take out order and dropping an F bomb. Yes, cracker, it’s all about race.

ITEM: Misery Class on track for FAA approval.  The 1% get something special.

ITEM: None of the wee Bairn’s pants have pockets.  The Bairn loves rocks and flowers and tiny knock-off Lego spacemen that look perpetually pissed off.  It’s bad enough that everything on a rack is pink and fluffy.  Add some damn pockets.  If you care about her silouette more than her .

ITEM: NO

ITEM: Just watched The Shape of Water.  This review in the preeminent conservative rag was written by a coked up 11th grader Incel.

ITEM: It’s ghost will haunt that building for an eternity

Filed Under: Gaudy Patter Tagged With: coachella, fb, ghost, gorilla, incel, misery class hero, monkey, wee bairn

Oh, I see.

April 15, 2018 by Rob

Me, Saturday Morning, Bedroom, Putting on a Summer Hat

Bairn: Take it off, I don’t like it

Me: Why?

Bairn: You look like a man.

Me: But I *am* a man!

Bairn: No, you’re “Daddy.”

Oh, I see.

Filed Under: Got No Truck Tagged With: daddy pig, fb, hat, hats, wee bairn

We Were Just Dancing to This

April 3, 2018 by Rob

Filed Under: Mood Music Tagged With: dale hawkins, fb, my babe, wee bairn

Pizza Bean

May 15, 2017 by Rob Leave a Comment

It wasn’t until about 6 months ago that I started trolling content on Youtube to occasionally entertain the wee bairn.  99% is dumb, funny but empty, or dumb and openly malicious.  The other 1% is video of Swedish kids running around an indoor playground with slides and padded obstacle courses, decorated with knock-off Lego figures.

We found this yesterday. Not sure where it falls on the spectrum, but it’s certainly closer to the dumb end, with some cultural stereotypes thrown in for good measure.

Filed Under: Got No Truck Tagged With: animated, cartoon, dumb, mr. bean, pizza, racist, rowan atkinson, wee bairn

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