I Hate Sagging Pants And Maroon 5

I like music videos. As a child of the 80s, videos were a huge part of growing up. But I'm also old enough to remember the dark days of the 70s, when there were no music videos. Probably because everybody had bad hair and ugly sideburns.

So when my eldest recently discovered the wonders of the music video, I didn't protest, though these days he watches them on YouTube, which in hindsight is a better format than MTV. Lots of people complain that videos have disappeared from Music Television, only to be replaced by half-clothed, obnoxious young adults doing stupid things, but the fact is that we still had to sit through a stupid Paula Abdul video with Keanu Reeves before we could see something from U2 or The Cure. Dammit! Why didn't we have that viewer control when we were kids?

There are a couple of problems with my video-watching eldest. One is that not all music is the same, and thus I actually have to provide that parental supervision all those authorities keep talking about. Another is that he listens to a lot of bubble gum pop music, which makes me want to cry and stab my ears with a butter knife. But the biggest issue is that The Boy is now 7 going on 17. Suddenly, and without warning, my boy has become concerned with his clothing choices. Given a rare $40 gift card recently, he opted to voluntarily spend part of it on a pair of skinny jeans. (This led to an odd moment where I almost literally had to hold my tongue, because I kept wanting to shout to him, "ARE YOU KIDDING?! Buy something COOL! Your parents will buy you those pants! You don't need to get them! And then I realized that my son was buying himself pants, thus saving me $20. And I kept my mouth shut.)

In the old days -- three months ago -- he would only wear shirts with some licensed character on it or with the name of a local sporting team. Now he's wearing patterned shirts. And I don't dare mention cutting his hair, which has grown long and unruly. He likes it that way.

This is a little difficult for us to get used to, given that past clothing choices haven't exactly inspired confidence in his fashion sense, often because they paired neon green with maroon. But we've let him choose the clothes and the hair style thus far, with one key exception: his pants.

The Boy recently indicated that he wanted to wear his pants down low, preferably with his underwear showing. I had a problem with this, mostly because I do not want to look at that butt any more than I already have. I've wiped that butt. I've potty trained that butt. I've seen things literally shoot out of it. I'm completely done with it. Plus, low-hanging pants just looks plain stupid. So I informed him, that, "as long as you're living in my house, Boy, you'll keep your pants up." I can't remember, but I think that when I walked away I might have muttered something along the lines of, "Dang kids these days ..."

And then it hit me: I'm a crusty old guy. Commonly known as a curmudgeon.

Actually, this fact hit me a long time ago, probably when someone told me that I'm a curmudgeon. And it's difficult to argue with. I tend to complain a lot and dismiss people who disagree with a wave of the hand and a "BAH!" I'm known at work for rants about the word "solutions" in company literature, such as "we deliver business-aligned solutions to support corporate and technology functions." (No, no no, no no!!! Your stupid software company does NOT sell "solutions," you sell a product or a service, so QUIT USING THAT WORD TO DESCRIBE YOURSELF! What I need is a solution to poorly written company announcements). I'm also known in my family for my hatred of Maroon 5 (I just wish that guy would lose his voice; it makes my eardrums scream and want to commit suicide) and the Miracle of Life center at the Minnesota State Fair, home of animals who are about to, are are in the process of giving birth, or they've done so recently (dang place is way too crowded, you can't see any animals, too many strollers, including mine, and poor animals have to poop out babies in front of a crowd).

But being the parent of a wannabe teenager has brought my curmudgeonness to an entirely different level. This evening, for instance, I found myself chasing after my eldest, pulling his pants up, grumbling the entire time.

The real problem is that the guy doing the griping about his son's pant waist level is also the same guy who once took a pair of new, white jeans, dyed them with black splotches, and then cut several holes in them, leading my girlfriend to say, "nice holes!" I wore these in public. Several times. Sometimes with a tshirt emblazoned with several versions of the f-bomb. Honestly, I can't say anything along the lines of, "In my day, we kept our pants UP!" to my son with a straight face. Sure, we kept our pants up, but they had holes that required that I wear a clean pair of boxer shorts under them.

Of course, now I know better, and really I'm just trying to keep my kid from making the same mistake I did, thus preventing him from looking like an idiot. Then again, perhaps instead of pulling his pants up in public and complaining about his underpants, I should actually encourage him to wear his pants like that. Then he'll think the look is dorky and he'll abandon it. Reverse psychology. 

So I guess I'll keep letting him watch the YouTube. Unless he starts listening to Maroon 5. Then I'm throwing the computer under a bus.