Mommy with a Penis

SEBASTIAN: My daddy's a satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: I'm sorry. SEBASTIAN: My daddy is a satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: Your daddy eats Seder? SEBASTIAN: (With increasing fury.) No. He's a satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: You mean a sailor. SEBASTIAN: A satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: A settler? SEBASTIAN: A satyr! ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: A senior? A sadist? A sitarist? SEBASTIAN: No. You are not listening to me. MY DADDY IS A SATYR!!! As a parent, I never expected to hear that uttered from my child's lips. The problem is twofold. No one expects a little kid to announce that his father is a mythological creature, and many folks don't know what the dickens a satyr really is. So, let's start by demystifying. In Greek mythology, a satyr is a follower of Dionysus, and on vase paintings is portrayed with with a swinging horse tail and perpetual erection. It wasn't until Roman times when the upper body of a man was attached to the lowe...

The NRA's been calling me. I'm not sure how I got on their list. Aside from squirt, I've never owned a gun, and for the most part am vehemently against gun ownership. Mostly because hot headed gun enthusiasts scare the crap out of me. And if I have to hear one more politician pander to the NRA saying how much they enjoy the wholesome, all-American sport of helicopter wolf sniping, I'm going to puke. But I digress. I've turned into one of those people who almost always uses his cell phone. My home phone is becoming a dinosaur. (I'll probably be dropping it off at the Tar Pits by the end of the year.) We'll receive no calls on our home phone all day and then dinner time rolls around and ring! One glance at the caller ID showing me an 800 or 866 number confirms my suspicion: people selling shit . I become smug as I spoon mac and cheese onto plastic plates, letting the call go to voice mail, where a message will never be left. I'm not going to be your surve...

For the following, sweeping generalizations will be made. Perhaps even a stereotype of two. So enter, fair hearts, with care. This is not for the squeamish. I start with a definition. Let me flip open my American Heritage. Ah, yes, here we are. Culture. The totality of socially transmitted behavior patterns, arts, beliefs, institutions, and all other products of work and thought. Culture has been an ongoing conversation between Michael and me since we met. We certainly do not see brown eye to blue eye on everything, however, we respect each other's point of view, which sometimes means shutting the fuck up. For instance, my husband wouldn't let Sebastian's hair be cut until his second birthday. It's a black thing. It's part of his culture. Thing is our son looked like a sheepdog by the time I finally got him in a barber's chair. Sebastian is white. So, if I understand the definition, my black husband socially transmitted his African American beliefs on to a g...