I'm In It With You, Kid

Tonight the kids and I were helping Howie, Sharon and Howard decide whether or not America has talent, when a 7 year old rapper hit the audition stage. He’d been in the game for “three…I mean four years”. He was fine. The audience liked him. He was super cute.

But, Howard buzzed him. And then Sharon did too. Next thing you know tears are streaming down the poor kid’s face.

The kids and I paused the show for a minute and just talked about it. We talked about how nervous you would be to be my son’s age and rap it up in front of all those people. And how cool it was that the kid tried. But, we talked about the reality of the situation too. He wasn’t a million dollar act that would headline a Las Vegas show. But, that doesn’t mean he should give up. If he loves rap, he’s going to keep rapping.

We find the things we love and do them. What are we passionate about? For my boy Blake it’s sports. Get a ball in his hand and he’s at home. For my daughter it’s school and reading and writing and getting big scores on all her state tests. I’ve always written, but it took me till recently to get that writing is my thing. When I’m doing it, I feel like myself. When I’m not, I feel off.

It took me forever to see that. I hope my kids have their trial and error earlier and settle into lifestyles that are conducive to them being content with what they do and who they are. I hope they find that thing that makes them feel as alive as I feel after I’ve written. Or after I’ve gone to therapy. Talking or writing shit out. Being real. That’s what I want for them.

The whole scene with the seven year old rapper was disheartening to me. The kid flat shouldn’t have been on the stage. He should have been protected from getting buzzed. By his mom. By his dad. By the producers.

His handlers mishandled him. Instead of letting his rapping grow organically, it looks like his mom tried to overnight success her little man. When asked what he’d do with a million dollars, I expected him to say what my son would’ve said, “buy toys.” But, he said, “take care of my family.”

But, that’s getting it backwards. He’s not supposed to be the savior. He shouldn’t be the caregiver. He should be the one being cared for. But, when the tears streamed down his face it was Nick Cannon and Howard Stern who hugged the poor kid instead of his mom.

That’s just sad. Mom put him in a position where he could do little but fail. He didn’t have the experience or the talent to succeed in that spot. And dad didn’t make the trip.

That just triggered this thought I had in therapy today of my dad teaching me to ride a bike. I fell off. It seems like I’d fallen a few times. But, when I looked up at my dad the picture etched in my mind is frustration rather than comfort or encouragement.

And I wonder if that’s what that confused little rapper felt like. Why is Howard Stern hugging me? Why is my mom not giving me comfort and encouragement? We need that. I still need it and I’m practically a grown up.

But, kids especially. I was telling my therapist today that it’s almost like she has taken the Howard and Nick role. The hugs or encouragement I didn’t get as a kid are the equivalent of what she gives me as an adult. There’s this priceless, peaceful feeling I get every time I leave her office.

I write some here and there and then fall of my bike. But, my therapist reminds me that my writing is beautiful…more than that…that I’m fucking beautiful. Before her, my beauty was drowned out by all the shit and chaos from my past. My beauty has always been there, she’s just opened things up so that I can see it.

And I think that’s how it is for everyone. We might have had dads who weren’t there or mothers who frowned at us, but what if it was their fucked up parents that created their imperfections and inability to see their own beauty?

I started writing 3 pages a day in August. It’s hand written…stream of consciousness. Whatever is on my mind. It’s really helped me get to the heart of what’s really going on. I have to unbury myself from all the chaos and bull shit in life to get to that point where I can see what’s really important.

And I think that’s the real job of parents, to help our kids discover their beauty. To pull them out from under the disappointments and the fears and the tough days. To smile at them and get a twinkle in our eye when they fall off their bike or get buzzed by Howard Stern, as if to say, “We got this. I’m in it with you, kid.”

Kids are naturally unsure of themselves and self-conscious. So, let’s make them sure that they should be conscious of the fact that their selves are god damn beautiful. Hell, we all could stand to be aware of that.