I’m a private person and not much for personal revelation, I have no intention of making this that sort of blog. But my eldest turned 13 this morning, making me *gasp* the mother of a teenager! So I’m feeling a bit (way) more introspective than usual. It got me thinking about how much fun it’s been to introduce someone else to the stuff I love. So random thoughts on nerdy children.
My dad raised me on a fairly equal mix of Universal horror flicks and Marx Brothers movies (explains a lot, doesn’t it?). So now I have genuine 3rd generation Monster Kids. Svengoolie Saturdays are a sacred event in our house, popcorn our sacrament. And Buster Keaton goes down nearly as well as Groucho. My kids are not put off by black and white movies and both know that the Empire State Building is King Kong‘s natural environment.
We’ve been watching classic Doctor Who together since I was still nursing. There was a time when I could pop in a DVD and, as soon as that familiar theme song sounded, a curly-headed toddler, maybe 18 months old, certainly no more than 2, would run into the room on sturdy little legs shouting “Watcha Docca Who, Mama, Watcha Docca Whooo!”. The only difference now is that the grammar has slightly improved. And the classic docs have been joined by an equally beloved string of new ones. We will have to agree to disagree as to whether Sarah Jane Smith or Amy Pond is a better companion (Team Sarah Jane, FTW). But my children have both danced with Sylvester McCoy and ridden a water slide with Fraser Hines, and I hope those are things they’ll remember to tell their own kids about.
I performed in a Rennasance Faire 8¾ months pregnant with the youngest, and that one has never voluntarily left the house without some sort of costume on since. Seriously, the closet has more superhero outfits than church clothes in it. The older one has hit that awkward age and recognized that dressing up for faires and cons is “weird” (speaking in defense, that’s completely correct, but don’t let on, because I’m not giving up my pretty clothes) and gave it up. Then discovered kilts. And knew life would be incomplete without a nice one and excuses to wear it.
I don’t have cable. I’m A) cheap, B) loathe 95% of everything on TV and C) morally object to subsidizing said 95% just to have access to TCM. If we are watching in real-time it’s mostly MeTV, so they love old sitcoms. All the eldest wanted for Christmas this year was a box set of Gilligan’s Island. The funny part is that it makes him totally capable of carrying on sophisticated conversations with adults 40 years his senior, as long as the subject doesn’t stray to far afield from whether Bewitched or I Dream of Jeanie is the superior show. The younger is addicted to anything historical or scientific that can be streamed on a ROKU, particularly if it’s gross or explodes. Sorry, they’re homeschooled, and don’t realize it isn’t cool to want to be able to name all the kings of England from William the Conqueror through Elizabeth II.
Lego. If I never step on another fucking Lego, my life will be complete.
Also, I neither know now care anything about the seven hundred sixty six alternate universe Robins, their relationships to the various Batmans, whether they are canon and which, if any, become Nightwing. Never have, never will. Mama is strictly a Marvel Comics girl and just because y’all play for the other team does not mean I am listening during your latest endless lecture about the virtues of Bat-Mite.
You are however correct that Monty Python are geniuses and that Holy Grail is the most quotable movie ever. Even if Airplane is potentially funnier. And has boobs!