That your daughter? Adorable! My kid’s over there, in the Ramones tee.
Can you even with these kids? Not yet three and already obsessed with the same specific bands as us parents. This tee was one of the first non-thermostatted, non-alarmed, non-pigtailed items ours grabbed at the store. He only grabs things when he really likes them. Or hates them. Or if they’re just, like, there.
His mom and I had the feeling that he, like us, would be a massive fan of the band. Don’t know if it was nature or nurture or me seducing the wife with, “Hey ho, let’s go!” as foreplay, but something about his prenatal temperament just screamed, “Blitzkrieg Bop.” By the time my wife yelled, “I wanna be sedated!” during contractions, we knew our instincts were correct: a super-fan was born.
But it’s not just the Ramones; his Bowie tee’s another fave. That one came in a box, and he was instantly obsessed. With the box, I mean. It’s almost as if he preferred it to the shirt. Now whenever he’s playing with any packaging more than the gift itself, we know it’s our lil’ rebel signaling, “Ground control to Major Tom.” If we take the box away, he tantrums like a goddamn child. His dedication to Ziggy Stardust is just that intense.
Tell me, is yours a good eater? Because mine’s addicted to chicken fingers and fries. At first, I didn’t know why, but then the obvious hit me: it’s a clear nod to The Sex Pistols’ ’78 tour rider, where the band requested only KFC and heroin. This is why we got him a Sex Pistols tee too. It was his idea (to go along with my idea for him to watch hours of Paw Patrol while I scoured Etsy for one in his size).
Would you believe his first word was actually “Mama”? As you no doubt guessed, that’s a direct reference to Genesis’s minor hit “Mama.” I naturally wish it would’ve been “Dada” for the obvious reason: I’m a much bigger fan of Alice Cooper’s DaDa album. But whaddya gonna do? Other than buy him a size 3T Genesis tee, which we, of course, did.
What’s that? Ooh, you’re right—it does look like he fell and got a booboo. Dude’s so punk rock!
Hey, may I ask how potty training’s going? Annoyingly, mine keeps crapping himself without warning. It’s always after he blurts out, “Me need Dookie,” his way of telling me to put on Green Day’s major-label debut. He gets so excited when I play it that the poop comes out before I can even get him in either of his two favorite Billie Joe Armstrong tees. I wish he’d just let me know he needs to go, but kid’s got a one-track mind. And that track is “Basket Case.”
He’s just wise beyond his years or whatever. Excuse me one sec.
“Ramon, stop licking that slide! Now! Right now!”
Sorry about that; he’s going through a phase inspired by that Kiss song “Lick It Up,” despite never having heard it.
Honestly, his mom and I are relieved he’s such an iconoclast. Believe it or not, we both have a natural tendency to care whether or not others see us as cool. But he just throws on whatever band tee we purposely seek out, heavily curate, and then obsessively post onto Instagram for him. Genetics are funny like that.
At the end of the day, we gotta let them be themselves, right? It’s not like we can force their futures through clothes, instrumental lullaby versions of Dead Kennedys songs, or CBGB-branded sippy cups. Their job’s to follow their own drummer. Our job is to make sure that drummer’s band has licensed its identity to Target’s children’s department.
Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about your kid’s Harvard tee.