The Child is Father to the Man...or Woman

My son has been visiting for the past few days, which is a treat but also sort of a downer. He is 23 and, wise in the ways of the world, has no qualms about pointing out how little I know. He loves me but makes it quite clear that I am old and nearing the end of my useful life as a teacher. That's fine with me, since I hate teaching but remain an eager student.

One thing Zack taught me yesterday is that it is simply not cool to write anything personal on Facebook; it is merely a marketing tool to sell one's art or business or what have you. This suits me fine as I rarely divulge anything there, and instead just post a link to this blog, so I guess I'm pretty sharp in that area! Another thing he is trying to teach me is the ins and outs of hip-hop. This is good, since he writes and performs hip-hop music, and I must admit I am stymied as to how to appreciate all those songs by famous and successful hip-hoppers with lyrics like "Fuck that bullshit, nigga," which I find less than melodic than say, "Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars."

It turns out my mistake was in thinking it is a genre of music, but it is not. That was yesterday's lesson, and that's all I know so far, but it certainly helped, since lowered expectations often significantly improve any situation and make it seem better, as in, "Oh, this is supposed to taste bad. Well then, it's perfect."