This has probably been covered before in many ways on this here website, but Nikki and I have noticed the completely inconsistent things we do to our poor children. Let me explain.
First off, to our own delight, we don’t have even the slightest hint of music taste concerns at our house. Not sure if this is even a thing anymore, but our kids like the same music we do, and boy is it rather an eclectic mix. At any minute, they could be singing along to Ray Charles on their iPods, or maybe rocking out to the new Daft Punk album. Quinn finally got over his unrelenting Bron Yr Aur Stomp addiction recently, while Cael couldn’t stop dancing to Thrift Shop, you get the idea.
In this very same vein, this week I realized that we are giving them the STRANGEST childhood as far as culture is concerned. For starters, we introduced them to Smokey and the Bandit on Monday, which was an enormous hit as you might imagine. That movie is remarkably kid friendly for something made so long ago. The only real problem is Jackie Gleason’s rather foul mouth, and thinly veiled racism, but most of the worst ones went right by the boys since he uses a particularly incomprehensible southern accent. Anyway, we saw that movie, and then on Tuesday for some reason or another I got talking to them about my Grade 5 teacher at Naismith Memorial PS, Mr. Lake and how he loved poetry. Which led me to find and read some favourites to the boys:
William Wordsworth – I wandered lonely as a cloud
Robert Frost – The Road not Taken
Alfred Noyes – The Highwayman
We even discussed what they might mean, and enjoyed the descriptive language together.
Now, separately these two things are just lovely anecdotes of family time. But when you realize that these two things happened within 24 hours of each other, you begin to realize that perhaps I’m not really qualified to have children. I mean really. What. The. Hell? I’m not really giving them a solid literary background, as Paula will probably mention in a comment here, these poems are like popcorn, not really all that nutritious or filling. And the movie clearly isn’t really worth all that much in terms of their development, with the possible exception that I was able to demonstrate where the Dukes of Hazzard CAME from. It also probably explains why Cael wants a CB radio installed into the Sienna.
So anyway, there you go. The kids will be weird in that ever so unique way that makes them Vallentyne weird, and not Jones weird or Smith weird or, well you get the idea. That’s your job as a parent; not only to give your DNA to your kids, but to provide your very own special mix of strange so they can go off and mix it with some poor unsuspecting person and raise their own special kind of weirdos. The circle of life turns onward.
Why is it not at all surprising that you watched Smokey and the Bandit with your kids? And I’m not saying that in my usual snide manner. Nothin’ wrong with a campy classic. I would not be entitled to criticize, anyway, because my son can recite Airplane by heart. It isn’t uncommon for Eyvi to respond to a stressful situation with the comment, “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines.†And several times he has broken awkward silence with his favourite quote, “Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?†(the subtext escapes him but he knows it gets a laugh . . . please don’t call CFS . . . ). As for the poetry, the poems you mentioned are solid classics and everyone should read them; then they should go out and find really good poetry. I would recommend Philip Larkin, Anne Sexton and P.K. Page. Then you could introduce a few contemporary poets: Patrick Friesen, John Weier, George Elliott Clarke, and Catherine Hunter. It’s funny that you mention being introduced to poetry by your fifth grade teacher. I had a wretched teacher in the fifth grade but grade six changed my life. I discovered poetry: I discovered that I loved to read it and I loved to write it, too. I know those first literary forays were grim–to say the least–but my teacher, Mr. McKenna, frequently had poetry writing classes. The announcement of such a class usually induced universal moaning. But he would just grin and wink at me. He was the first teacher to make me feel as though something I did was worthwhile. Look at me, getting all schmaltzy.
I think it might be time for your kids to watch some Monty Python. Maybe on the same day that they read a little James Joyce. It’s all about balance.
I knew that this post would be just too tempting for you to resist commenting on, Paula. 🙂
Also, for some reason my last paragraph got lost somehow, which I have now fixed.
Finally, while the kids were amused by my little foray into poetry with them, I’m not sure they will be charging off just yet to discover more. But, I’m pretty sure they will probably end up having their own moment in school like you mentioned where the light will go on.
Monty Python is a GREAT IDEA, btw. Now, to decide where to introduce them…. oh the decisions.
🙂