Kids are back at school soon, and – duh – they all need brain-dead stuff like a backpack, notebooks and pencils. But my kid is special, see. My kid is a snowflake. He’s got pencils, but he needs pizzazz.

So naturally, I’ve compiled a list of the top five things (there are more, dudes, but … attention span) my special little snowflake needs for back-to-school time. Your kid probably doesn’t need them because I’ve seen your kid. He’s OK, but he’s all boogery. I can tell from the look in his eye that he’s not a go-getter. You want a go-getter? Dude, you can’t handle a go-getter if you even hesitated to answer for a fraction of a second. This list isn’t for you, Mr. Mediocre.

My one-of-a-kind bag of awesome isn’t settling for the middle road. So here’s just some of the stuff I’ve got on his back-to-school wish list:

Back-to-School Need 1. Kid Uber / Kid Lyft

Because, bro, I’ve got my own awesome adventures to be on. I can’t be bothered to drive him to school AND pick him up. That’s an EVERY. DAY. THING. if you know me, you know I have a religious exemption from doing the same thing twice a week. My life is exciting, dynamic, Instagrammable and Pinteresting. Now, it’ll be weird for a different person to pick him up every day, but I’ve kicked down a couple of extra credits to make sure they have a sign with his name on it. That way, his school will be all “oh, that’s first-class right there.” S**t, yeah, it is. Thanks for noticing.

Need 2. A Kindergarten Registry

College dorm registries are a thing. And that’s cool, but it’s getting into registering too late in the game. I’ve been pounding pavement this week trying to get retailers to give me a kindergarten registry hub. There, my son can poke around their fine virtual establishments and add items without me standing next to him in a big-box retailer asking “How about THIS backpack? How about THIS one?” And dude, like I want to discuss with my son whether his favorite color this week is red or black or green. And shoes? Get out of here.

I’d rather let the kid just register for his supplies, and let grandma and grandpa take it up with Target and Amazon directly. Since my son can’t technically read, I’m going to have to ask the teacher to make the back-to-school supplies list all pictures. Just use clip art and sight words in Comic Sans if you have to. And email it to him directly, please and thanks.

Back-to-School Need 3. A Completely Digital Ink Education

Look, maybe you want your kids (and spoiler alert, you do) to trudge to yesteryear’s drum writing in notebooks, finger-painting and looking at globes, but not me. Honestly, finger-painting? Your kid comes home with some amateur rendition of a shark (and paint on his shirt) and you’ve got to keep it on the fridge until he comes home with another terrible rendition of something else. Give us all a break. Save it to your Camera Roll and let that be that. No more Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper and 22 Pee-Chee folders rotting away in a backpack. No more pencil lead, crayon wax, paints and markers all over him. My son’s soft, immaculately porcelain skin should not be defiled with such sloppy “art.”

And notebooks? You’re going to make my child write something on a non-indexable, non-searchable, non-categorizable, non-editable sheet of paper? And then what? Go searching for the information later by flipping through pages? Nope. Do you know what’s indexable, searchable and forward-thinking? Tablets. I don’t even care if it’s an iPad or a Microsoft Surface or a Samsung Galaxy Tab. Just give my kid an app into which he can dictate notes, another app for art, and another to see real-time maps of the world with traffic, weather conditions and polar vortex overlays available.

Globes? Are you serious? Don’t waste my time and I won’t waste yours.

Need 4. A Domain

You (and you and you) clearly want your kids to grow up without an identity. Or worse, you want their identity to be mystupidkid2023, because that’s the last email name that’s going to be available when you finally come around. But not my son. Oh, no. I want him domained-up right now. I want school emails going to it. Tuition stuff should be going there. He should be managing his financial and socio-online reputation NOW so that when he’s a teenager, he won’t be worrying about starting from scratch – or worse, from whatever boner legacy I’ve left him. Terrible.

My son needs a domain, a Stackable newsletter, and a few accounts on social platforms, and he needs it now. Your kids are busy doing the hokey-pokey and turning themselves around, and my son’s surging ahead of the pack polishing off his curriculum vitae complete with an email address hailing from his own domain. God, your kids look like rookies. Honestly, it’s embarrassing.

Back-to-School Need 5. Online Major University-Accredited Kindergarten Courses

It’s the first week of being back to school and my son is already over your kids. Like, for real. Their problems are so petty. Joey’s got nut allergies. Jon can’t use scissors. Melinda has a weak bladder. Ugh. It’s s**t like this that slows down the educational process. So let’s step it up here and offer some major university-accredited kindergarten courses.

If my son’s got to learn how to tell time, you’d better believe I want that applied to his hard sciences general education requirements. And ain’t nobody handwriting anymore, so if he’s got to learn how to do it, he’d better be getting his official transfer-ready propers. And look, instead of dealing with Joey, Jon and Melinda, my son would rather just check in with the kindergarten teacher’s office hours once a week and do courses from his home office. Nothing personal. Actually, it is.

Editor’s Note: A version of this first appeared on 8 Bit Dad. Photo: © chas53 / Adobe Stock.

I’m standing over my son’s bed, and I start crying. I think: he’s alive.

It’s a weird emotion for me. My wife and son were in a car accident today coming home from school. Everyone was OK. The car wasn’t. People lived, items didn’t. It worked out how it was supposed to. But my seven-year-old is scared. He’s waking up as soon as he falls asleep. He’s crying because he’s scared.

“I want momma,” his voice cracks.

“Momma’s got to sleep too,” I answer. “She was also in the car accident and she’s hurt too. You both need to rest.”

My wife is as hurt as my son: shaken, scared, but alive. An airbag deployed. Her arm is red. Her chest is red. She’s alive.

My son said that the gas the airbag put out choked him. His ribs hurt. His stomach hurts. His airbag didn’t deploy. But he’s alive. He’s alive.

I’m standing over my son’s bed, biting back the tears, taking shaky breaths in. I don’t know how long I’m supposed to stand here. He’s alive, I think. People die in car accidents. Parents stand over empty beds the night their kids die in car accidents. My kid’s alive. I’m no good at this.

“I feel sad that the other woman has to pay money,” my son told me before trying to sleep the first time. He’s sweet. He’s innocent. He doesn’t know why anyone has to be paid for anything. “She’s sorry,” he tells me.

“Sorrow won’t make the car come back,” I answer. I explain, in the simplest of ways how when you don’t follow the rules, in this case, the rules of the road, you get punished. I explain that she’s lucky that for not following the rules, she’s only paying for a car, and not for more. I’m lucky too.

I don’t know what my son needs. He’s tired. He’s scared. He’s whispering half sentences, and I get him water again. He asks me not to be mad, but that he might need me to stand there next to his bed longer.

“I’m not mad. I’m here as long as you need me.”

My hips are slowly swaying because the only time I’ve ever had to stand this long next to his bed was when he was a toddler and I’d pick him up and sway slowly to get him back to sleep. It’s muscle memory. It’s, I think, what I’m doing to comfort myself. Life’s been pretty easy so far, I think.

We have our problems, my son and I. We fight about homework or about rules, and some nights I get mad when he’s not tired and calls me into his room over and over without reason. Not tonight. Even if he’s stammering, in and out of sleep, I’m not mad. He’s alive. My wife is in the other room sleeping. She’s alive. They’re lucky. I’m lucky.

“What do I do,” my son asks me.

I don’t have an answer.

I lie: “You just think about the weekend. Tomorrow we’ll play video games. Think about those.”

I know he can’t stop thinking about the car accident. It all happened so fast. Every time his brain can, it revisits it. I know it does. There’s no way to tell him not to think about it. He’s a kid, his life has been simple. He asks, half asleep, what if it happens again. I say all of the right things about how cars are made to crash and made to save you. But it could happen again tomorrow and I just stand there, looking at his ceiling fan, slowly whirring in the darkness, and think: it could happen again. It could be worse. His airbag didn’t deploy. It could have been worse. My breath skips a beat and a tear spills down my cheek.

Tomorrow, I’ll drink more coffee than normal. I’ll be tired at work. But I’ll still be lucky. I didn’t spend the night standing over a hospital bed. I didn’t spend the night sitting at the foot of an empty bed wondering why. I’m lucky.

“I’m ready to go to sleep now,” his little voice says.

My breathing is choppy as I sniffle a bit. “OK,” I answer. “I love you.”

I put my hand on his head. His hair moves between my fingers. His eyes are closed, his breaths are heavy. His fingers are gripping his blanket up around his neck. He’s going to dream about the car accident. Again. He’s going to wake up. He gets to wake up. He’s lucky. I’m lucky.

And that’s why I’ll be back as many times as he needs me.

A version of this first appeared on 8BitDad.

Everyone writes these great stories about the things about fatherhood that surprised them. Wonderful, pie-in-the-sky stuff, like how first-time-father-dudes never truly knew how to love until they saw their child’s eyes. Or the surprise of having to learn how to do girl’s hair as the father of a daughter.

That’s all totally valid.

But there are a lot of things that are very not-shocking about fatherhood. Things that, when they happen, you saw them from so far away that you actually forgot about them until they were right there, running you over. No-brainers about fatherhood, such as …

1. I’m raising a small me.

I understand this doesn’t sink in for some people. But early on, I knew that whatever my kid saw me do, he’d do. Whatever he heard me say, he’d say. Obviously. That’s how babies learn the world. So when my son is sarcastic to me, I get it. He’s just putting out what he got in.

And whenever I curse (which is, on a good day, once every four sentences), I know it’s coming right back at me. And it does. When my son was no more than three, he hit his leg on the coffee table and then sat down, and without knowing that I was listening, said “ow, my f**kin’ knee.” We had to explain that there are adult words that he just doesn’t get to say until he’s been chewed up and destroyed by a constantly contracting and crushing life, breaking him from the inside out. Then, and only then, do bad words truly mean something for you, kid.

I’m raising a tiny me. I knew this from the start. So I’ve got to put love, happiness, nerdiness and some humor into him so the rest of the world doesn’t regret that I had a kid.

2. Kids break EVERYTHING.

You can train your child that you live in a museum (and what fun is that), or teach them specifically what to touch and what not to touch, but eventually, your child will break everything you care about. They will put a slice of cheese in the disc tray of your PlayStation 4. They will tear holes in your couch cushions. BTW, they’ll also break their own arms.

They will, in fact, break everything you have until you have bought everything in your house three times.  They will also break your heart. You know it and you wait for it and it happens and then you go off and cry and you get back on your feet and wait for it again. It all pays off though. At least that’s what my dad said.

3. I get to buy toys again.

This is incredible. I get to go to the store and buy toys. And my son thinks it’s for him, but yeah, I never got Nerf guns when I was a kid, and now there’s a million of them at the store and they shoot all sorts of neat stuff from darts to missiles to ham sandwiches. I get to buy video games and superhero action figures. And I get to play with all of this stuff with my son because he and I make a great team.

But sometimes I get conflicted. I want to buy an action figure and keep it in the box, but then I think, “no, I bet my son would want to play with this.” Then I take the action figure out of the box, pose him like 50 times, make him beat up other action figures I have, and then when I hear my son coming down the hall, I silently whisk my action figures off my desk and back up onto my bookcase really quickly. Shhhhhhhhh. I get to buy toys.

I also get to go on eBay and buy old stuff that was around when I was a kid but isn’t anymore, like the old, two-color GameBoy. I even dragged out my old skateboard as if I’m ever going to skateboard again. Hell no. But I’m going to get my son totally into skating and enjoy watching him do it.

4. I have to be the bad cop. A lot.

Once your baby starts walking and talking and being a real human and not a shit-lump wrapped in blankets, you know you’re going to have to lay down the law. It starts with stupid stuff like “no biting.” Then it’s no putting the dog’s tail in your mouth. Then it’s “don’t stand on my laptop” (see No. 2). Then, it’s “you need to eat all your food or there’s no figgy pudding.” Et cetera, et cetera.

But there’s a million other things that will make you raise your voice, or send both of you to bed crying. They’ll tell you that they hate you. Your spirit will break and you’ll want nothing more than to break their spirit in return. But even though you’re the bad cop, you’re still a cop. You’re actually more than that … you’re a parent. You knew this was all coming. And so you just hold it together.

5. Fatherhood is fun.

I’m raising a rad kid who likes toys and video games and enjoys dancing. When my wife was pregnant, people would tell me fatherhood was tough, but they also said it was a lot of fun. I’d get to do cool stuff like teach a little person how to throw a baseball or how to use a camera. I get to show my son how to make a pizza, and I get to explain the universe to him before some shitheel at school ruins it for him. I get to play Frisbee with him and pretend I can still skateboard. I get to take selfies with him and listen to jokes about poop. I also get to do some of this fatherhood thing in my pajamas. And for every time my son tells me he hates me because I won’t let him eat cupcakes and play Halo on a school night (dude, hit me up on Friday), he also tells me that he loves me, and he smiles when I do things with him and he laughs at my poop jokes.

This shit is the life. The. Life.

A version of this first appeared on 8BitDad.

Now that a bunch of ex-businessmen are at-home dads, raising families while their wives concuss themselves against the glass ceiling, the living room is the new boardroom.

Nothing says “I’m bringing us out of the emotional recession of raising babies” like using business jargon in the home. Here are some phrase you at-home dads can us with your kids if you intend to run your home the way you ran your Fortune 500 company (And yes, we’re all aware you were at a Fortune 500 company back in like, 1988, Chad).

CEO speak: “I need you to give 110 percent on this.”

WHEN TO USE IT: When your child is just giving the industry-minimum 100 percent, and you know deep in your cold, black heart that a little – precisely 10 percent – more blood, sweat and elbow grease will truly get the second coat of wax on your convertible faster. It’s not enough for your kids to win, they’ve got to remember that sweat is just fear leaving the body.

CEO speak: “That’s a great value-add!”

WHEN TO USE IT: Parents overuse the “good job” compliment. Kids didn’t do jobs. They don’t know what work is. They’ve never had to run reports late into a Friday night while everyone else parties in the city below. Your child is simply adding to the value of the family. You bring home a check, it’s a job. You increase your worth in the family unit, it’s a value-add.

CEO speak: “Let’s circle back …”

WHEN TO USE IT: Obviously, your 3-year-old daughter isn’t understanding the synergy it takes to wash and dry dishes with her brother. She can’t stay focused, and dishes are going back into the cupboard wet. So you let her know that you’ll have to put the dishes on hold for now and you’ll circle back to it later when she’s feeling more refreshed and ready to better serve the team.

CEO speak: “It’s time we get your core competency up to snuff.”

WHEN TO USE IT: Any time you feel like your toddler’s fundamentals are lacking. I mean, there’s snuff, and then there’s your kid. He’s not up to it, the snuff. Whatever that means. In this economy, having core competency means he can step into any role, any time. And thank god, because dinner ain’t gonna cook itself.

CEO speak: “We’ll be on the bleeding edge.”

WHEN TO USE IT: You’ve read all the parenting websites and know the normal child developmental schedules. But you know that with that aforementioned 110 percent, you could get your little one to hit their numbers ahead of schedule. You’ve got to sit her down and let her know that you, as a team, will be on the bleeding edge of childhood development if only she could, say, learn Microsoft PowerPoint by age 3.

CEO speak: “You’re gonna have to hit the ground running.”

WHEN TO USE IT: It’s bad enough that your daughter is in karate. She’s a girl, why does she need to learn to fight, amirite? Anyway, her class ran long because some people got belts or something. So you need a motivational metaphor to let her know that sure, it’s probably not your fault that you’re late, but you can still move this turd of a night through the pipes and get everyone to their cocktail before double digits. Voila.

CEO speak: “This is our best practice.”

WHEN TO USE IT: Don’t be negative with your children. They don’t understand “no.” But they understand what’s best for your family unit, explained in best practices. Sure, you could let your toddler paint inside, but your family’s best practice is to paint outside, where furniture won’t get paint on it. If it’s currently snowing outside, your family’s best practice is to let your kids paint at school. Everything’s got a time and a place.

I know classes just started. I know it’s an exciting time for you and for your small child. But please, please, pretty fucking please, stay in your proper school pick-up line.

I know it’s tough … I’m sympathetic to your pain. I’m in the line, too.

Thing is, we’re all in line. So get your ass where it needs to be and inch forward like everyone else. Thumbs up emoji!

Here’s a suggestion: Tonight, talk to your family about which line you’re in and how you get into it. We were all supplied a diagram of the two lines: the drop-off and the pick-up lines. People love diagrams. Draw a new diagram for your family if you need to. Especially for the grandparents. In fact, you should tape up a diagram inside their car, because they’re ancient and forgetful. I’m just looking out for you here.

NEVER back up in the school pick-up line

Because tomorrow, no matter how many of us are on the same page, someone is going to drive their happy ass against the traffic down the ONE bit of parking lot that we’re not supposed to drive through. It will cause chaos. People will start backing up. And if you’ve ever seen people back up while in a line, it panics everyone. People start waving each other on, reverse lights go on and off, cars do that OMG BRAKE thing that gives you instant whiplash. I don’t want instant whiplash.

If you reverse while in line, you are going to hit me. I will sit there and continue to play Marvel Puzzle Quest on my phone as my car folds around me. Your car is worth more than my 2012 Nissan Versa. This will not end well for your insurance. I will wear a neck brace in court. And I’ve practiced crying on command.

So please, don’t be the one that starts the domino effect, and don’t be the one that ends it by shredding through my car.

Face it — you are wrong

If you see a line of cars and you’re driving in the other direction, you’re in the wrong. The 40 people in the school pick-up line aren’t wrong – you are wrong. We know you have to get back to work. We know you don’t want to wait. We know that your little snowflake is more special than our little snowflakes. We got the memo in print and via e-mail.

Also, while I got you here, you should know that — yes — we all see the line of parking spots directly in front of the school pick-up line. DO NOT PARK IN THOSE SPOTS, GENIUS. YOU WILL BE BOXED IN.

Again, we all understand that your daughter has a dentist’s appointment (WOW — does she need it). You just want to “get in and get out,” and these eight parking spots look so tempting. But this isn’t going to end well. It’s faster in the line if we all respect the line.

Respect the school pick-up line and it will respect you. Grow up. It’s time to stop raging against the machine. We are the fucking machine. We are our parents, so sit in line and let that sink in a little. This is our lives for the next eight to 12 years, ending one car length at a time.

Signed,

A Concerned Parent

A version of this school pick-up line article first appeared on 8BitDad.

People are sharing photos more than ever. With cameras on our cellphones, and a multitude of sites where we can share our images, people of all ages are looking to create compelling photos that tell their story. And since children are learning to shoot photos as well, they need a kid-friendly resource that will get them thinking like a photographer without intimidating them.

National Geographic created an engaging book for kids with that in mind. National Geographic Kids Guide to Photography brings kids pro tips from National Geographic photographer Annie Griffiths in a visual style that is accessible and easy to read, thanks to children’s book author Nancy Honovich. The pages are also peppered with shots from National Geographic’s “My Shot” photographers community for inspiration.

The best part? This book isn’t just a photography guide for DSLRs; kids will get a primer on SLRs, film cameras, smartphones, disposable cameras, video cameras and even underwater cameras.

My favorite part of the book — as both a photographer and the father of a child who is interested in photography — is the chapter on photo editing. Many people think that a photographer’s job is done once the shutter is pressed, but the professionals know that cropping and adjusting for color, sharpness, hue, saturation and contrast all help create the story that an image tells. National Geographic Kids Guide to Photography does a great job reminding kids that only a small part of the process is aiming and shooting a photo. The authors don’t shy away from editing photos on a phone either; tips are given for choosing the right filter for an image.

The book also goes into some complex skills that adults new to photography can even benefit from reading. Skills like adjusting depth of field, choosing shutter speed, identifying good and bad lighting, light painting and even tips on shooting fireworks are included. Subjects are indexed in the back of the book for easy finding, and there’s a glossary of terms, just in case your child (or you) forgets what the “f-stop” or “ISO rating” are.

There are also interactive elements to the book — from “what went wrong” scenarios, where kids identify the element in two photos that makes one look better than another, to simple crafts like creating a pinhole camera to making your own camera strap. The partnership with My Shot encourages kids to submit their own photos in its moderated, kid-safe community.

National Geographic Kids Guide to Photography is (shhhhhh!) a really good reference for you parents as well. You can buy this book for your child (recommended for ages 8-12) and thumb through it for inspiration yourself. The book is fun for younger audiences, but the tips are ageless. If you’re looking to bolster your child’s inspiration with a good foundation, National Geographic Kids Guide to Photography is the perfect resource. Now, get your family up out of the house and shooting!

If advertising is a legitimate measure of a society’s current desires, targets and priorities, then fathers are indeed a desired, targeted priority, according to a new study.

Yahoo, alongside strategy firm Audience Theory, recently released “The New Face of Fatherhood,” a study that delves into the difference between modern Millennial and Gen X fatherhood. In it, they identify who the modern father is, how they see themselves, and what their relationship is to things like tech and advertising.

We’ve noted before that you can find more active fathers in commercials now than ever before, targeted by brands that had never in the past thought to depict dads cooking, cleaning and changing diapers. There’s a reason the guys with the money are aiming for this image of fatherhood.

There are more stay-at-home dads than ever before, a result of many factors such as more moms being in the modern workforce and that gender roles aren’t as rigid as they once were. Yahoo’s study also points to the “mancession” of recent years: post-recession men out of work by chance (30 percent) or by choice (70 percent). While almost half of moms admitted that they prefer more traditional gender roles in the household, Millennial dads are far more comfortable than the Gen Xers were at taking responsibility around the home.

In fact, Yahoo’s study found that 50 percet of their respondents said that they do the grocery shopping, a task that had been seen in past generations as “woman’s work.” Back in 2012, The Parenting Group (publisher of Parenting Magazine) and the Edelman firm put out some similar numbers, finding that between 40 and 70 percent of dads said they did the grocery shopping. But one of the big crossover stats here is that only 32 percent of the fathers in that study said that their own fathers used to do the grocery shopping.

It’s not just grocery shopping that dads are leaning into. Dads are also driving their kids to sports activities (52 percent), managing their kids’ digital time (47 percent) and bathing their kids (42 percent):

Beyond household tasks, modern fathers also have emergent values systems. For example, of fathers polled:

• 73 percent don’t put boundaries on their kids’ play and activities based on gender.
• 93 percent want their kids to come to them when they have tough questions.
• 91 percent want to their kids to pursue their own interests.
• 76 percent want their kids to have “sophisticated tastes,” but 90 percent take pride in raising kids who are not selfish or spoiled.

Overall, 74 percent of respondents spend more time with their kids than their fathers did with them, but 44 percent feel like they’re still not spending enough time with them.

Time is, however, not an infinite resource. Yahoo detailed the “You Can’t Have it All” Dilemma:

While more companies in the United States are offering paternity leave (2 percent), support is still sparse. Other countries still eclipse the U.S. in their support for new dads. For example, Sweden offers new parents a total of 480 days per child (no, that’s not a typo) that can be shared among both parents (with 60 days specifically allocated to dad). Though capped at a certain dollar amount, Swedes can take these 480 days at 80 percent of their wages.

Elsewhere, Virgin Group CEO Richard Branson recently announced his company is giving some new parents — both mothers and fathers — up to one year of fully paid parental leave. The policy only applies to the estimated 140 members of the upper management, but it’s still a step forward.

The bright side is that society is changing. Fathers are noticing more positive images of dads in commercials even if they still feel like advertising aimed at them is rare. Yahoo found that 60 percent said that it’s about time advertisers recognized that fathers also do the shopping, and 53 percent welcome the targeted advertising.

Yahoo’s research is indicative of a new interest in the science of men. It’s a promising step forward in gender politics, benefitting both fathers seeking resources to allow them to stay home with their children and mothers looking to expand their careers out of the home. As we work toward a society that supports both parents, research like this enlightening for the community, advertisers, and governments alike.

Our Philips LCD TV was only eight years young and its warmth would light up a room. It gave us incredible memories – like the time that one show was on. Or that other time when that other show was on. And probably reality television. And video games. All of the video games.

Philip, as I called him, had more life to give. But that life was cut short Saturday night, by murder. A TV murder. And the murderer was my son.

I remember years ago, when my son still had that fresh out the womb smell, I distinctly told him that if it ever came down to the Sophie’s Choice of him versus the TV, I’d choose the TV. Before you judge, look – he was a baby. He was up crying all night, every night. And he had two channels: the Unhappy Baby Network and AKPC: the All Kinds of Poop Channel. But my TV had like, pssshhhh, 500 channels. And if I came across crying or poop, I could just turn on The Food Network.

Anyway, this last Saturday, it finally happened. I was in the bathroom reflecting on my life (and playing Street Fighter), and suddenly heard a cry unlike the other daily cries. But it wasn’t accompanied by raised voices. I thought the boy must have hurt himself. Then, I received emergency communication through the bathroom door …

“We’re going to need a new TV.”

“PHILIP, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” I yelled back. I’ll spare the details, but I got myself back to publicly acceptable condition and stepped into the hallway. I couldn’t look into the living room. I wasn’t ready.

Then the smallest, saddest voice: “Dad…”

I sat down next to my son on his bed. He explained that he broke the TV playing Wii Bowling.

“Philip,” I said. “Please use the TV’s Christian name.”

But then my son broke my heart. He asked, “Do you still love me?”

Full stop on the humor. “Of course I still love you, I’ll always love you.”

“And I’m still your son?”

“Always. You’ll always be my son no matter what happens.”

Deep breaths. Kids ask these kinds of things because they just don’t know. I mean, how do you learn that people don’t get rid of their kids for breaking the TV other than to just live through it?

Was I mad about the TV? Of course. But was it the end of the world? No. Was it the end of our family? No.

So, we went out to dinner. And after dinner, we bought another TV. It gave me a mild heart attack to not do any research, but my wife has taught me to be a little more impulsive in life.

Maybe Philip had to die. He had a lot of life left in him, but he wasn’t 1080p. He didn’t have USB connections. He had a giant bezel. And he’d make a weird clicking sound when he was off, like he was calling us to watch him.

Philip was actually kind of sh*tty. Getting center-punched with a Wii remote was letting him off easy. Just bein’ honest.

My son, on the other hand, is a wonderful, emotional person. He’s worried about who loves him – and though I’m sure some people will think “it’s terrible that boy had to ask if his dad still loves him” – I’m happy that he asks. He’s a kid. Kids don’t understand family, love and all that complicated stuff. So whenever my son needs me to say “I’ll always love you,” I’m happy to do so.

And maybe if he grows a couple of HDMI ports, I’ll love him more than the TV.

Kidding. God, you people are touchy.

A version of TV Murder first appeared on 8BitDad. TV Murder pPhoto by schmilblick on Foter.com / CC BY

I’ll admit it: Yes, I started an Instagram account for my 5-year-old son.

I’ve been trying to find digital-age bonding methods for my son and I. Sure, we do all that old world stuff – play catch, cook together, read together, play with Legos. But we also bond over photography – and when my son started to commission me to take photos of things to post to my own account, I thought “why can’t he do this, too?”

I must admit – I’m also interested in the things he wants to present to the world. So starting an Instagram account for a 5-year-old is also a bit of a social experiment for us. Can my son create likable images? Will people follow a 5-year-old? Will he be driven by likes, or will he continue to post the photos he enjoys? When he’s got more than a handful of photos – what types of themes will emerge? Where in his world does he find beauty? Will it help his photography skills?

And most importantly, will I be able to steer him clear of his favorite 5-year-old topics – poop, his own wiener and bugs he’s stepped on?

We’ve got multiple cameras around the house, and from time to time, he’ll pick one up and snap off a photo. We’ll then sit on the couch and I’ll try to explain what all the buttons do (and then spend 10 minutes saying “don’t touch that button! Anything but that button!”). Really, the father-son bonding of it all excites me.

But my initial struggle was: he’s a kid. I know folks that don’t let their children watch television or use their iPhones for games – and here I am registering an e-mail address and Instagram account in his name and giving the kid a camera. All right … so, we may have crossed the bridge before some of our peers, but I think it’s a bridge that we’re all walking toward. Our generation didn’t get phones and social networks until we were teenagers (at least!). But kids these days are growing up with digital footprints. I’ve already been Instagramming photos of my son on my own account. Now, I’m putting power in his hand to create art of his own (and to take unflattering photos of ME for a change). And yes, there are going to be a lot of food pics.

Otherwise, he tells me which photos he’d like to upload, I make sure they’re suitable, and post them. He can’t read or write yet, so I ask him what he’d like to add as a description and type it for him (spoiler alert, a lot of times, it’s “best [ITEM] ever”). I also allow him to come up with a couple of hashtags, and add a couple with his permission (since his are rarely SEO-friendly). As a child that will be growing up on the Internet, he’ll probably have to learn hashtags in school the way I had to learn the Dewey Decimal System. So this is a good start.

Maybe once he’s established and people know that he’s not, in fact, being carried away. But until then, kid, I reserve the right to deny potentially weird descriptions. (Coincidentally, Instagram’s Terms of Use states that you’ve got to be at least 13 in order to have an account – so I’m happy to be the account’s custodian for, oh … the next eight years.)

I also set him up to follow (with his permission) accounts that I thought he’d like: Disneyland, National Geographic, Marvel, DC, Lego and, of course, mom and dad’s accounts. He enjoys looking at the photos and liking the ones that appeal to him. And it’s only right that I teach him to “Like” photos that he enjoys. Social media is a two-way street.

Part social experiment, part artistic expression, and part introduction to modern digital life, I think that opening an Instagram account for my son will be fun for the both of us. There’s a big, wild Internet out there, and for a creative kid, this is a great place to jump in. You can certainly do worse than giving your kid a little creative outlet and teaching him about the internet and social media. Personally, I’m excited.

A version of this first appeared on 8BitDad. Photo by Kampus Production from Pexels

What happens when an online card vendor wants to “win” the Mother’s Day season? They create a viral video. And that’s just what American Greetings (for Cardstore.com) did with the help of ad agency Mullen. And if your vagina doesn’t tremble with love and happiness after seeing this video, then you’re probably not human. Or something.

The video, “World’s Toughest Job” is a well-meaning stunt meant to make people think about how much mothers do for their families. But it all comes off as martyr-mom falsehoods that insult more people than it compliments, including moms.

So, basically: Mullen created a fake company named Rehtom Inc., and posted a job listing online and in newspapers for a “director of operations.” Of the 2.7 million impressions that the job posting/ad got, only 24 people applied. So, some actor held video-call interviews to tell candidates about the position. And during the interviews, the actor listed the “really quite extensive” job requirements:

• The job requires you to work standing up “most or really all of the time” (sorry, wheelchair-bound parents, you’re already out).
• The hours are “135 to unlimited hours per week”.
• “There are no breaks available”, and ”no time to sleep”.
• “You can have lunch, but only when the associate is done eating their lunch.”
• They’re looking for someone “with a degree in medicine, in finance, and the culinary arts” (this isn’t at all elitist sounding).
• If you had a life, they’re asking you “to give that life up”.
• There is no pay.

And so on and so forth.

So then when the candidates start pushing back (especially at the zero-pay part), the piano starts and it’s revealed that the “job” is being a mom! OMG! SMH! ROFL! IDKFA!

But don’t take my word for it, watch the American Greetings’ ‘World’s Toughest Job’ video.

Also, har-dee-har-har, “Rehtom” backward is “mother.” Zing!

Look, we get it. Mother’s Day is coming up. And being a mom is tough. Is it a job? I don’t think so. It’s more than a job – it’s a life choice. If you’re running it like a job, you’re going to lose out on all of the incredible, soul-fulfilling parts of parenthood. And this martyred thing where moms compete on Facebook to see who’s gotten less sleep or who has eaten a more gnarly leftover of their toddler’s meal has got to go. You chose this. You. Chose. This.

And I know you’re all like “Zach, we know you’re going to say ‘and what about dads?!‘” You know, I totally would, but this is a Mother’s Day commercial, so I get it. True, this commercial ignores dads and puts all of the parenting burden and responsibility onto moms – but I’m just taking this as a Mother’s Day commercial. Which reminds me, dads:

Dads, just tune out all commercials until mid-May.

As a Mother’s Day commercial – do moms want to be treated like motherhood is a “job” and that if they DO get to ever sit down or eat a hot meal like they’re not doing it right? That’s bullshit. I’m sorry, but moms get to sit down, they get to eat, they get to sleep (albeit, not to the capacity that anyone would like). And the amount of hot meals, sit-downs and nights you get varies. Some of it is skill-based and some of it’s dumb luck.

Some of it depends on how helpful of a spouse you’ve got – and that’s on you, ladies. Choose a dude that is loving, helpful and responsible EVEN BEFORE you’ve got a kid, and guess what? He’ll be helpful once you’ve got a kid. Because if you marry some butthole that refers to certain tasks as “women’s work” or is out every day “with the homies” from the second he’s off work until bedtime, chances are that he’s not going to magically love emptying the dishwasher or doing laundry once you have a baby. I know this because I watch MTV’s Teen Mom.