Go To Your Room

"To Kill a Mockingbird"

Yesterday afternoon, I terminated my relationship with an important client. It was a very difficult decision to make, but it became an inevitability. It wasn’t because he wasn’t talented, employable, or recognizable. On the contrary, he was all of those things and more. I ultimately ended our working relationship due to his uncontrollably bad behavior. I had great hopes for the next stage in his career and I had worked tirelessly to help him achieve his goals. But now, as I sit here sifting through the rubble of this disaster…I’m completely exhausted from weeks of negotiating on this client’s behalf, which have now gone to waste. And, I am disheartened by my failure to recognize and aid a client who was on a downward spiral of his own doing.

There is a lesson here and I’m still trying to figure out what it is. Many questions keep coming to mind – What steps can I take to prevent my sons from becoming men who are not ruled nor ruined by their own demons? How do I impress upon them that their actions (both good and bad) will not only affect them, but greatly impact those around them? And, how do I instill enough confidence in them so that they never have to rely on their vices for strength?

I’ve tried to show Justin “right” from “wrong”, encouraged him to demonstrate acts of kindness and compassion, and I’ve demanded that Justin show respect to all those around him. Whenever Justin has misbehaved, he has been reprimanded. Even at this young age, he understands that his actions had consequences. If he did something wrong, he got sent to his room. Yet, the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t have the answers I’m looking for.

So, here is a note for “Future Garrett” and “Future Justin”:

Boys – Sometimes life is going to be harder than you expected it to be. It’s at those moments when you will be judged by your actions. It’s easy to be “good” when everything is going well and it’s very easy to be “bad” when the dark clouds come and nothing is going the way you expected. There will be moments when you want to run away from your problems and there will be other times when you may want to seek solace where it should not be sought. I promise you that if you stay true to your word, put your faith and trust in those people who love and support you, and stay honest  – you will never be judged poorly.

As for my former client…he is not my child. I cannot “ground” him or send him to his room without supper. I can simply say, “thank you.” Without his actions, I would not have begun to think about how to shape my boys into honorable men.

There’s No Business like Show Business

Over the past 16 years, I’ve been battered, bruised, beaten, fired, ignored, screamed at, fired again, hung up on, lied to, lied about, cursed at, had things thrown at my head, been threatened, been forced to perform an illegal (or at the very least, “morally ambiguous”) activity or two, and been left for dead by an industry that I loved. And still, after all of that, I consider myself to be one of the lucky ones. I’m still here. There are people who still trust my guidance and wisdom and somehow, I keep getting up after being knocked down. This is the true definition of “unrequited love.”

By day, I am a Hollywood Talent Manager and I am currently responsible for the careers of 25 talented, (mostly) recognizable, and (mostly) employed actors. I read scripts, make submissions, pitch clients for projects, call executives, negotiate deals, and try to stay “in the know.” At any given moment, you may see one of my clients on your favorite television shows or in a great movie. As Jerry Maguire said, “I’m the guy you don’t usually see. I’m the guy behind the scenes.”

However, I do my best to leave Hollywood at my doorstep at night before I walk into the house. I do it for a number of reasons, but most importantly – I want to keep it away from my kids as long as I can. I’ve done such a good job of this that I’m not really sure if they know what I do. All Justin knows is that I go to an office, talk to people on the phone all day and then sometimes I yell at them.

While I love what I do and I’m proud of all that I’ve accomplished, this is not what I want for Justin and Garrett. I want them to refer to the seasons as Summer, Spring, Winter, and Fall and not, Pilot Season, Development Season, Episodic Season, etc. I don’t want them to know what a Kardashian is or think that there is any legitimate value in “fame.” Several years ago, I heard Mister Rogers speak at an awards gala full of entertainment industry executives. The first words out of his mouth were, “Boys and Girls……Fame is a 4-letter word.”

But as of yesterday morning, I came to the realization that Justin knew way more than I thought he did. On the way to school, Justin said the following: (I took notes while driving.)

“Daddy. I want to see “Men in Black 3” because it looks funny with the eyes in the soup in the commercial and it opened this weekend, but I don’t want to see the “Pirates: Band of Misfits” movie. It looks dumb. Can we take Alex and Alina to see “Brave”? It’s from Pixar and it opens June 22nd. They made “Cars” and “Cars 2” and “Toy Story 3.” It should be really good. And, Burger King is going to have “Brave” toys in their kids’ meal. And, I want to see “The Avengers” because I like Iron Man and I think the Hulk is funny, but I don’t like the girl. I think all my friends will like it too. And, I want to see “Madagascar 3” on June 8th, but I don’t want to see it in 3-D and it’s from Dreamworks, but I don’t want to see the little boy fall off the moon in the beginning. And, daddy? Does “Pro-me-the-us” have aliens in it? It looks scary. And, when does “Despicable Me 2” come out? Will it have the girl from “iCarly?” “John Carter” looks stupid. I don’t ever want to see that. “Battleship” looks loud. And, it looks like “Transformers.” Is it the same thing? Can we go and see “The Fresh Beat Band” live in concert? They are going to be in Chicago, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Boston, and Los Angeles. Can I have your phone? I want to see “Pocoyo” on Netflix.”

Let me be crystal clear – I’ve been in a lot of meetings over the years with many, many influential and well respected agents, managers, producers, and studio executives. And, hands down, Justin (a five year old) said more intelligent, insightful, and accurate things about the entertainment industry in that one rant than I’ve ever heard from some of the highest paid executives I’ve dealt with. I’ve never been so horrified and proud at the same time.

My Secret Identity

Like most boys, I wanted to grow up to become a superhero. I wished for the ability to fly like Superman, pop Adamantium claws out of my knuckles like Wolverine, or have the power to smash things when I became enraged like the Hulk. I had no interest in running as fast as The Flash because it seemed like too much effort and as much as I liked Batman – he was not a superhero. (Being rich, having gadgets, and dealing with mommy/daddy issues does not make you a superhero. If Superman can easily kill you with a fart, you are not “Super.”)

However, when I was growing up, my favorite superhero was Green Lantern. Hal Jordan was just a normal guy who flew jets and had no personal demons. But, when he put on his ring, he became a superhero who defended the Universe. With that ring, he had power, strength, the ability to fly, move objects, read minds, and create different states of matter. Because of that ring, Green Lantern could do virtually anything.

While thinking about the Green Lantern this morning, it dawned on me that I too have a ring that grants me special powers. It may not be green and the powers may not be as exciting, but my gold wedding band grants me the power to make major medical decisions, file a joint tax return, and it gives me visitation rights to my wife or children in either a hospital or jail. Because of this ring, I will most likely live longer, be less likely to commit suicide, and (according to many women’s magazines) I’ll have better sex more often.

I also realized that this ring gave me the opportunity to create life (without a social stigma). And, upon further investigation, it bestowed upon me one very specific super power in order to keep those two life forms safe and in line. It’s called, “The Dad Voice.”

I discovered it three years ago – the night after our house was broken into. One of the local alarm companies took advantage of the break-in (without knowing which house it was) and decided that it would be a good idea to have their salesmen go door-to-door making sales calls at 9:30pm…thereby scaring the crap out of people.

The first time they knocked on our door, I told them to go away. Ten minutes later they returned and knocked again. And, once again, I told them to go away. Twenty minutes later, they returned again – and this time my instinct to protect my family kicked in. I turned toward GWE and told her to take Justin into the other room. Once they were safely away, I placed myself four feet away from the front door and opened my mouth. A deep, booming, window and shutter rattling, ear-cracking, attention getting sound erupted from the pit of my stomach.

“GO AWAY!!!”

I saw two salesmen through the shade covering the small window in our front door. They became startled, turned around quickly, and hurried off into the darkness. When GWE came out of the bedroom, she told me that she wasn’t sure where that sound had come from, but it had clearly gotten Justin’s attention as well.

There are only two times I have had to use “The Dad Voice” with Justin. The first was when he was about to stick his finger into an electrical socket. The second time I used “The Dad Voice” it was paired up with the less successful, “Daddy’s Crazy Eyes.” The sound was effective; the visual was not. It was mocked for the days and weeks that followed.

In summary, I’d like to take a moment to thank my wife and boys for turning me into the superhero I always wanted to become. Unlike those other heroes, you won’t have to worry about keeping my “real” identity a secret. I will continue to fight for you, protect you, and embarrass you only when absolutely necessary.

“Don’t worry. Nothing is Under Control.”

These are the last words I heard from Justin as he walked down the hallway holding my “Doctor Who” Sonic Screwdriver in one hand and his plastic “Handy Manny” hammer in the other. Curiosity got the better of me and I followed him into the den to see what he was up to. I stopped just before rounding the corner and observed Justin from the darkness of the hallway.

There, on the coffee table, Justin had laid out his electronic piano and a few tools. He also had a cup of water, a battery (which he had not gotten from me), and Garrett’s box of Wet Wipes. I watched him flip over the keyboard and locate the holes where the screws went in. Justin then attached the correct Phillips-head tip to the screwdriver and began to unscrew the bolts that connected the top of the piano to the bottom. I thought about intervening at this point, but he was actually making progress and I wanted to see where he was going with this.

He struggled a little with the screws and eventually gave up. But, that did not deter him from going through with his plans. Justin then used the Wet Wipe to “clean” the area. And finally, he grabbed a tool from the floor which I had not previously noticed. It was the kitchen can-opener! He dunked it in the cup of water (possibly to sterilize it??) and then attempted to open his piano like a can of beans.

“Whoa…whoa…whoa,” I said. “What are you doing??”

“I’m fixing my piano,” he replied.

“What’s wrong with your piano?” I asked.

“The battery died and I’m putting in a new one,” he said proudly.

“Would you like some help?” I asked.

“NO!” he responded.

I shrugged my shoulders and walked into the kitchen for a drink. I was immediately summoned back to the sofa. Justin sat me down next to him and said, “I am going to fix the piano. Close your eyes and hold out your hands.” I had no idea what he was planning, but I followed his instructions. He then put his hands on top of my hands and said, “Ok, now I am opening the back of the piano…” As he said this, he moved my hands around the back of the piano like it was a Ouija board. “Now, I am changing the batteries….” he said, as he continued to push my hands around. It slowly dawned on me that he wanted ME to change the batteries for him.

With my eyes shut and Justin’s hands on my hands, I lifted the lid, pulled out the AA batteries (actually just moved them around a little because I knew they were fine), and then closed the lid. Finally, Justin told me to open my eyes. He yelled, “TA DA!!!!! I fixed it all by MYSELF, daddy! Are you proud of me????”

I laughed and responded, “Yes, buddy. I’m very proud of you.” I then simply asked, “You really did that all by yourself?” He looked right into my eyes, held his hands up to my face like they were his master tools, and stated, “ALL….BY…..MY….SELF.”

Justin vs The Think n’ Stink

Those of you who’ve been following GenXDaddy know that Justin has cost me thousands of dollars in repairs to the sewage pipes under my house, including the pipes directly under my driveway (which had to be jack hammered and then repaved) and the pipes leading all the way back to the main sewer line at the street. Pipes that have stood the test of time for over 50 years have been pushed past their limits by the “imp” living in my house who thinks it’s funny to flush strange objects down the toilet. We have been incident free for several months and I assumed we had a few more years before Garrett’s potty training put our pipes to the test once again.

Even though Justin is fully potty trained, he refuses to wipe his own butt. To this day, he still calls for me to “take care of his business” and then requests that I use a Wet Wipe to make sure he is clean. (Yes, I take requests.) GWE and I have been encouraging him to wipe his own butt, but he has not yet taken the initiative.

On Saturday afternoon, while I was feeding Garrett, Justin announced that he needed his butt wiped….again. I thought it was a great opportunity for me to NOT be available. I told him that I was feeding the baby and he would have to do it himself. Then, there was silence.

All I heard was a flush and an “uh-oh.” Then, I saw Justin sheepishly walking down the hall. I stopped him and asked, “Why did you say ‘uh-oh’?” He replied that he thought he used too much toilet paper, but it was ok now because it all went down the potty. I went over to the toilet and looked into the bowl suspiciously. I saw nothing and slowly backed away. For the rest of the day, we were incident free.

At 1:00am, I turned off the television so I could go to bed. Bleary-eyed, I headed to the bathroom for one final chance to “put one through the hoop.” When I was done, I flushed and heard the toilet respond in a long and low“GUUUULLLLLP.” I opened one eye and looked into the bowl. What I saw was the potty equivalent of when prospectors strike oil. Brown water began to surge to the surface. In a moment of either brilliant ingenuity or complete stupidity, I grabbed a nearby vase and with both hands I plunged it deeply into the murky waters. I began pulling quart after quart of “turd juice” out of the toilet and disposed of it in the sink in the hopes of not having the toilet overflow onto the floor. After a few moments, the tidal wave passed and the toilet was calm once again.

Afterwards, I sprinted to the kitchen sink and began to scrub everything from the tips of my fingers to the ends of my elbows in scalding hot water and anti-bacterial soap. I must have been there for 10 minutes, but I could not get them clean enough. (“Out, damn’d spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then ’tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky.” – Macbeth)

The following day was Mother’s Day. When my wife awoke, I leaned over to her and romantically whispered into her ear, “Happy Mother’s Day. Whatever you do, don’t flush the toilet.” She stared at me for a moment and then rolled over to go back to sleep.

After a few hours (and some cautious use of potty #2), the plumber arrived and was greeted by GWE. He went to the back of the house to snake the drain closest to the bathroom. After a few moments of assessing the problem, he decided that the best plan of attack was to snake the toilet itself. GWE guided him to the bathroom. As he passed by, I hung my head in shame knowing the horror he was about to witness.

Justin was excited to have the workman in the house. It meant that he had someone to supervise. Once the plumber observed the scene, he did the only decent thing he could do in that situation – he closed the door to prevent Justin from seeing the mess he was about to clear out. Not to be deterred, Justin laid on the ground and tried to get a glimpse of the action from the crack between the door and the floor. Hopefully, he saw nothing.

After twenty minutes, the plumber announced he was done and he quickly left. (I can only assume he raced to the closest de-contamination center to cleanse himself.) The toilet was fixed, Justin was excited to re-christen the working bowl, and GWE’s Mother’s Day present this year became the gift of a swift flush.

 

Boys and their Toys

While cleaning up Justin’s toys for the 1000th time, Greatest Wife Ever made an interesting observation – the toys Justin loves the most have stupid, nonsensical names. When I was a kid in the 80’s, our toys were named after 1) the physical description of the toy, or 2) the function of the toy. Silly putty was actually putty; Transformers transformed; He-Man toys were really manly-men action figures with bulging muscles (yet, some questionable hairstyles); and Speak & Spell both spoke and spelled! Even our board games were named after their obvious function – you “operated” in Operation, you sunk Battleships in Battleship, and my Hungry Hungry Hippos were actually HUNGRY!

Today, Justin’s favorite toys are “Squinkies,” “Zoobles,” “Lalaloopsy,” and “Bakugan.” This is a completely new language to any parent. The only reason I know what any of these toys are is because I watch television with Justin. I see the commercials he sees! Otherwise, I would have no idea what he’s talking about. If I had no frame of reference and Justin asked me for a “Zooble,” my first thought would be to take him back to speech class.

I’m going to perform a service for all of you parents who (like me) find themselves standing in the toy aisle at Target without a clue as to what your kid is screaming about. I will translate the toy names for you:

Squinkies” actually mean “Choking Hazards”

Zoobles” actually mean “Gay Gremlins”

Lalaloopsy” actually means “Dead-Eyed Voodoo Dolls”

Bakugan” actually means “Will Break by End of Day”

I love buying toys for Justin, but I find that I am more likely to buy him a toy that is named after something in reality. You want a football? You got it! You want Hot Wheels? Sure thing. You want a Kaflashbitz? What the hell is that???