A Judgment Call

Redefining embarrassment in the most innocent way possible.

I always find the idea of “judging” someone really interesting. Maybe I misunderstand the terminology, but I seldom find myself drawing overarching conclusions about someone based on one small, usually out of context, piece of information. However, my wife disagrees with me on this, especially when it comes to our kids.

They can’t wear that outfit.

Their hair is a mess!

There is literally chocolate all over their face.

“What will people think of us!?,” she says with that scowl that makes me rethink all of my logic. “That we’re human. That we’re busy people who have better things to worry about than ponytails with pink bows.” That’s what I think in my head before I actually say, “You’re right. I’m so sorry.”

This is probably why I wore sweatpants every day of my life until junior year of high school. I also cut my own hair for approximately a decade and thought burping the alphabet was a great party trick. It dawns on me now that this probably limited my social mobility. And I kind of get that I was probably judged.

Do I want the same for my kids? Hell no, but I plead oblivious ignorance on this one. Once my kids started going to school, though, I began to understand the eccentricities of this parenting thing. People tend to make broad assumptions about you based on the way your children look, talk and make farting noises (or lack thereof for the dignified). So just imagine our glee when our 3-year-old daughter Ella rocked this gem to school one day:

Yep, F THE SYSTEM.

In our defense, it’s more TNT than HBO dialogue, and the bracelet is pretty darn colorful. But given the context (circle time with 20 kids and two teachers) and the location (conservative Christian preschool), probably not the best move.

If you recall, my wife and I enjoy the occasional EDM festival and like to assume the full costume of the eclectic genre. “Kandi,” as it were, is a storied EDM tradition of creating and sharing complex offerings that connote elements of peace and harmony among connected souls. Or cheap crafts made by 26-year-old Abercrombie & Fitch models gyrating out of their gourds who had one too many somethings. At a local event last year, my wife was thrilled to be presented with her first kandi by a group of guys wearing thongs and angel wings—par for the course. We examined her new trophy and chuckled at the ironic PG-13 phrase and percolating millennial anger that reminded us of own tragic youth (Emo culture peaked when I was in high school. I rocked unbelievably baggy JNCO jeans—post-sweatpants—tethered with a wallet chain while anguishing to Taking Back Sunday. What a time.)

Tossed in a junk drawer hours later, we never thought it would resurface next to legos and “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.” I’m sure the class was thrilled when my kid shared the free-energy counterculture symbol of 21st century percussion-driven artistry. Credit to her teacher for calmly pulling me aside later in the day to let me know of the “incident.” As if we weren’t on the naughty list already when Ella was quizzed on a food that began with “b,” to which she answered “beer” and then followed up with, “my daddy’s favorite.”

I profusely apologized and played coy, truly hoping we would be welcomed back the next day. I really didn’t want to explain why my daughter was expelled from preschool due to her father’s preferred Spotify playlists. Her teacher chuckled nervously and assured us all was fine. All things considered, I’m sure it was tame compared to the overly personal insights that have been shared by preschoolers over her career. And that’s sort of the whole point: kids have a way of exposing all our flaws, imperfections and oddities for the world to see. Good luck maintaining your polished image as you drag your offspring through the toy aisle in Target while they hit a decibel level only dogs can decipher.

And do we judge those people? Maybe when I was 25 and life was simple. Now I know that feeling, crying on the inside and swearing we’ll never leave the house again. But us parents power forward, doing the best we can every day. Even when our children have mismatched clothes, messy hair, dirty faces and obscene jewelry.

To that, I say F THE JUDGMENT.