It really would be swell if we could develop a remote control which could mute people’s mouths. A big, knobby, cast iron remote that would allow you to point, click “off” then go bash the jackass in the face with. It would come in handy in so many situations – subways packed with teenage girls, dining morons loudly calling for golf scores into their mobile dingbat, Blue Tooth ear-lobotomizers or snatchy middle-aged gants snidely calling into question my parenting skills at the playground.

   That’s what I got the other day for going outside where people could see and talk to me. I’ve been trying to be a better, more engaged dad and lately that means getting out early and doing stuff that’s fun and physical. There’s a skate park in this town and Jack digs it – mainly using his scooter he glides bravely over ramps and does figure eights on the half-pipe while his old man rides a small skateboard and pulls groin muscles, dislocates hips, smashes his coccyx, scrapes the living fuck out of his palms and throws out his back.  Elsie laughs at me and insists that we go to a park with better slides. Somehow I keep forgetting the part about me not being 18 anymore – or at least I’m keenly aware that I don’t want to be in my 40’s and unable to do stuff with the kids. And who can deny that half-pipes are wicked fun?

   So Jack was scooting around some ramps and the quarter-pipe at one end of the park while Elsie worked the half-pipe on the other side. She climbed and slid down it while I made simple 180’s look real ugly. There’s a walking path skirting outside the fence where we were and a low-estrogen lady with downy cheeks was walking a big dog. Nice looking pooch, white and yellow, possible Akita mix. I’d just finished a magnificent backwards stumble with Elsie jeering from the top of the pipe, “Haha, Daddy!  You’re not very good!” when the lady stopped to chit chat.

   “No helmet?”  The inquiry missed me a first because I was busy laughing at myself with Elsie.

   “Hunh?”

   “I said, no helmet?” She repeated, with a little extra sour starting to pucker her face.

   “What do you mean? For me or for her?” I chuckled thinking my daughter doesn’t need a helmet to walk on ramps and what the hell does she care if I bust my head open?

   “I mean for him!” and she pointed across the park to my lad on his scooter.

   “Ohhh.” I looked carefully at Jacko, pretending to make a serious visual inquiry. “It looks like ‘no.’ No helmet.”

   The lady made an odd, yet unmistakably disgusted grunt and turned away with her dog.

   “Hey – do you have a muzzle?”

   “My dog doesn’t need one.” She sneered

   “Wasn’t talking ‘bout your dog!”  And back to boarding abominations and fun with the kids 

   Just when did we come to the point where everybody is so comfortable putting in their two cents wherever and whenever and to whomever they fucking please? The intrusive helmet snatch was exactly the type who would’ve dropped irritated remarks if spotting us formula feeding our kids as infants. Should Jack have been wearing head protection? Probably. Was there an option? Definitely – I could’ve forgotten to pack the damn helmets, that was my option.

   The exchange might have had an entirely different flavor if the woman had displayed some actual concern for my boy’s welfare rather than simple disgust over what she perceived as his dad’s neglect. Had she said something like “Hey, don’t mean to suggest anything, but I’ve heard a lot of kids get hurt here…” I might have been inclined to accept the concern and offer a “Yeah, I goofed and forgot the helmet but I’m trying to keep an eye on him.”

   But that’s not what it’s about anymore. It ain’t people being neighborly and looking out for each other. It’s everybody pointing the finger and each other for not adhering to an ever-ballooning list of Things You’re Supposed To Do. But this checklist sometimes seems more about appearance than substance – If I make my kids wear a helmet then I won’t have to spend much time really showing them how to ride bikes or how to bend their knees and lean forward a little when scooting down a skate ramp. If I sign them up for many structured activities I won’t have to teach them how to be polite or share or be respectful of others.  I have neighbors who insist on making their kids wear helmets even in their own driveway yet aren’t too concerned about them throwing rocks at cars, dropping their pants in the street, peeing everywhere (including my front yard) and breaking anything they get their nasty little paws on at other people’s homes. But they have the right external accoutrements – maybe that’s why it’s only Elisa & I and a shockingly small number of neighbors who look across the street and see a really fucked up picture. I forget the protective gear now and then but my kids ask if it’s okay to cross the street, play and follow what little rules there are. Theirs show up with helmets, dragging scooters and eating Skittles from cereal bowls with the gleam of malice in their otherwise half-dead eyes. The new social mandate of child rearing suggests I should praise them for the headgear…but all I can think is If you little shits hurt my daughter again or break any more toys you won’t be seen again unless your corpses get pulled up by a scallop trawler off Block Island…

   I’m trying to assimilate to this brave new world of stupid, shallow kids becoming Guitar Heroes and using booster seats until they’re 15. I really don’t want Jack or Elsie to crack their heads open while biking or skating but it would be kinda tragic to cancel a morning at the half-pipes because I forgot to bring the helmets. We do try to keep them protected for the most part but we can’t be totalitarian about it – it could lead to even greater tragedies.  If I yell out the window about kneepads every time I see them put a foot on a skateboard they might just decide skating isn’t a fun exercise but rather a chore. And that might encourage them to spend more time inside growing ass and brain fat on the couch while begging us to finally cave and buy a PS3.

   So, was that my point? Sounds like a good enough point but if it needs bolstering here’s this: Screw You Dog-Lady!

Matter of fact she’d peeved me enough to make a tribute dinner for her that evening.  I butterflied, slathered, re-rolled and fire roasted a pork loin with the following stuff: 

Suburban Jerk Marinade –

Not very spicy, and while quite tasty, this is a good introduction to bolder flavors for children or any bland motherfucker you have to have over for a BBQ. 

2 medium ripe peaches/nectarines – peeled, pitted

1/2 onion, roughly chopped

4 cloves garlic

1 jalapeño chile, seeded and white ribs removed

1/2” piece of ginger, peeled

small bunch fresh marjoram, stems discarded

1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper

1 teaspoon ground allspice

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup honey

Juice of one lime 

Mince the hell out of everything in a food processor.  Use to marinate chicken, pork, seafood.