A brief and possibly unenlightening note on my parenting style

I love this picture.  There are so very few pictures of Biggie smiling.

We had a toddler birthday party today, for one of the boy’s Hogwarts classmates– one of the ones I like– and we have another one next weekend for a kid he doesn’t go to school with.  I’ve talked about these things before, and I suspect most of you know what they’re like; the kids do their thing and the adults all stand around awkwarding at each other.  While learning kids’ names has been a job skill for a long long time and doesn’t take me long, I am terrible at remembering the names of adults, and even worse at remembering which adults go with which kids absent an obvious family resemblance.  And I don’t know any of the kids’ last names, so I can’t even fall back on Mr or Mrs. half the time.  Now, this party, as they go, was just fine.  I suspect this family is closer to Our People than most and, as I said, the daughter has proven to be independently entertaining on several occasions anyway, and she and the boy appear to get along well.

Also, the party was at the zoo.  Which, great, I like the zoo, but less great, because I applied for a job that could have had me running this party several months ago and never even got called for an interview.  I woulda done a better job than the person who was there, too, dammit.

Anyway.  I’ve been unemployed or on medical leave for the majority of this school year by now, so I’ve taken over all the dropoffs and pickups from school and probably a larger share of generic school-thing duties than dads typically do, so I’ve had time to notice something, and it really seemed to be turned to eleven today: people, for whatever reason, seem to think that everything I say to my son is hilarious.  Or, at least, they do when I’m not mad at him, and he’s a good enough kid that I rarely if ever have reason to be angry with him in front of people.  But I swear to god my every interaction with my son today got some adult nearby laughing at us.

I swear that everything about my interactions with the boy is entirely normal and not strange at all, and I have no idea why other adults find it so funny.  I swear.

(This is why this is an unhelpful glimpse at my parenting, by the way; I can’t even provide examples.  But for some reason, people think me talking to my son is real, real funny.  Do with that as you will.)