Raging Dad

I have been amazed by my kids’ abilities to remain unaware of the differences between people. Sure, they understand that each of us is a unique and beautiful snowflake. But they have yet to be soiled by the ugliness that comes with age and time that causes, despite our best efforts, us to see the differences in people before we see the similarities. Their exposure to people with backgrounds and cultures different from ours is profoundly different from what Raging Mom and I were exposed to as young kids in Northern Minnesota. I am proud that they have friends from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds. I am proud that my kids don’t think twice about two dudes getting married. They may be suburban kids, but they are on the path to being well-prepared for the modern, diverse world in which we live.

Photo: cBass10n (Flickr)

You’ll understand, then, the alarm that I felt at hearing the words from Michael’s lips last week. We were at my father-in-law’s place (Raging Papa), and the Raging Twins were playing with superheroes, as they do so often. Bare in mind, the boys are savvy to some pretty detailed facts about the universes Marvel and DC. For example, they know that superheroes—in a literal sense—possess superhuman powers. Superman, Spider-Man and Wolverine are examples of such superheroes. Batman and Iron Man, however, possess no superhuman powers, but have highly specialized skills, technology and weaponry to set them apart from common thugs and goons. Like, duh. But we call ‘em superheroes anyway, because it’s easy. And as long as we remember the facts, it’s all cool.

I’m sure that I am not the only dad out there who has figured out that now that I have kids, I can buy all sorts of comic book shit that I could never have gotten away with just a couple of years ago. Not only is it a most-triumphant development for me, it has become a great way of bonding with my kids. It has given us a simple, yet fulfilling common interest. Now you’re scoffing at the fulfilling part, and as I read it back, it is a little ham fisted. [Ham-fist. Hamfistor. Ah, nevermind.]

Honestly, though: For all of the ways that I have failed to communicate like a grown up to my kids, the easiest way to draw them in has been to find common ground, and share with them the joys of my own childhood. Is that unhealthy?

I even have this thing going on, where I tell them that I could be Spider-Man. I never say outright that I am Spider-Man. But it is possible. They think this is so cool. I tell them that I couldn’t really tell them, because if I were Spider-Man, and they knew about it, their lives would be in danger. The boys are just in awe. Connie, well, she ain’t buying it.

Major digression. Have I lost you yet? Lemme get to the point. The setup: Michael is playing with a little Wolverine figure, and runs up to me. I’m sitting on the couch watching the Twins game with Raging Papa.

MICHAEL: “Dad. Wolverine is a mutant.” A powerful declaration of fact.
RAGING DAD: “Yes indeed, boy. He’s got that healing factor. And his bones are coated in adamantium.”
MICHAEL: “Uh huh. Uh-MAN-tum!” Teh close, kid.
RAGING PAPA: “Michael, do you know what a mutant is?” Pause.
MICHAEL: “A freak?”

Holy shit. He just said “a freak.” I’ve never used that word in his presence. Raging Papa was laughing his head off. I was appalled, and horrified to think where he had picked this up.

RAGING DAD: “No, no! Mutants aren’t freaks, Michael! They’re people just like you and me!”

Except they have that X-gene thing going on. And they’re fictional. Hrm. I look over and see that Raging Papa thinks I am insane taking issue with his definition. What to do? I defend the mutants.

Magneto. Photo: Tana Lee

RAGING DAD (TO RAGING PAPA): “Mutants represent the oppressed. The X-Men were created in the early 60s, and represent the archetype of the ‘other.’ The mutants in the X-Men are metaphors for racial intolerance, for the plight of kids who are labeled as ‘different,’ and for our country’s ongoing battle over equal rights! Professor X’s fight for young mutants is derived from Martin Luthor King, Jr. and Ghandi, while Magneto is often compared to Louis Farrakhan.”

Blink. Blink. Raging Papa was uncompelled. I could hear him thinking that I was a raging liberal. A ridiculous, mutant-loving, raging liberal. Guilty as charged.

District X: A ghetto for mutants.

I tried to explain to Michael that it is not okay to call anyone a freak, no matter what aspect makes them different from others. He was agreeable, but I will need to bring this up again to make sure that the lesson is understood. As I thought about it later, I began to think that the incident was actually an excellent way for this to come up. When we talk about it again, I can use the mutant-as-freak notion as a simple illustration of how easy—and wrong—it is to place a pejorative label on a person just because they are different from you. Wow. Thanks, Stan Lee. Thanks, Jack Kirby. You guys are boss.

I know that the chances of the issue coming up again are only going to increase as they grow older and get exposed to media and other kids. Interestingly, we discovered where he picked up the word: from an episode of Spider-Man, featuring the X-Men. How apropos. The word was used by a villain, and the context was obviously over his almost-four-year-old head. Good parenting, eh, Raging Dad?

I sincerely hope that it’ll be my kids who are defending the “mutants” of their realities. Who knows, maybe they’ll be the “mutants” themselves. I am pretty sure I was one. Without the whole superhuman powers thing, of course.

[I had to say that last part in order to protect the innocents from the treachery that would plague my house if my arch nemeses knew my identity. Thanks for understanding.]

Was he?