When I make a mistake I really make a mistake.
My eldest, the Artiste is one very funny kid with an eclectic taste in movies, music, books and art. Independent films, jazz and Johnny Cash (yeah that one surprised me) as well as indie bands, Truman Capote, Hunter S. Thompson, Vonnegut, the surrealists, Banksy and pop art. That’s my kid. I get him. While his sibs like to play their math games with Papa Bear we like to talk about his interests. When he was young he was a huge reader and then he stopped reading in junior high, so I am always thrilled if I can find something for him to read that he likes.
Here comes the problem. My memory is not the greatest and I have never been a detail person. Unless a book ranks as a personal favourite I will probably only remember the gist of it or some particularly salient passage or idea. Now I remember reading a book in high scool or maybe it was early university that was hysterical and very quirky. Just what the Artiste would like and it was on our bookshelf, so I gave it to him to read. His initial reaction was, pretty funny book.
Now here comes the bad parenting, bad memory part. Just yesterday he said to me, “You know that book is kind of a girl’s book and there’s pretty explicit sex in it too.”. My immediate reaction was “A girl’s book?” and then the rest of his sentence sunk in, “Sex? Sex? I don’t remember any sex! Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t finish the book.”
“I’m sure and it’s O.K. I can finish it.”
“Hah, yeah I’m sure you can.”
I know that you can’t unring a bell and that at the age of 16 he’s probably seen far more than I can imagine but sheesh I shouldn’t be the one ringing that bell.
From now on I think it’s safer if I read his recommendations.