Parenting Tweet of the Day

True dat.

My Friend the Metrosexual.

METROSEXUAL (met·ro·sex·ual):

• Noun: a heterosexual, usually urban male who pays much attention to his personal appearance and cultivates an upscale lifestyle. He is usually given to enhancing personal appearance by fastidious grooming, beauty treatments, and fashionable clothes.

I’m 83% sure this isn’t my buddy.

I have a good friend who irons his jeans.

Seriously. He irons his jeans.

Who irons their jeans? Don’t guys do what I do and just toss them in the dryer if they’re a little wrinkled? I mean, they’re jeans for cryin’ out loud. But there’s more. If he wants to wear a nice shirt or something with his jeans he creases them.

Seriously. He creases his jeans.

Now, anyone who has seen my office or house knows I’m a guy who is in touch with his feminine side. Hey, I like things neat and tidy, love having a lot of plants, stuff like that. And I may or may not have gotten a little teary-eyed watching The Notebook, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, I have a trait or two that are not generally thought of as real masculine. That said, I could probably beat your ass so don’t go there.

But ironing and creasing my jeans? Never.

My metrosexual friend also gets regular manicures and pedicures. He calls them “mani-pedis” and does so without remorse. He also shops at Banana Republic, and he shaves more than just his face if you know what I’m sayin’.

Uncle Si he ain’t.

Once a few of us guys went on a long weekend to Atlantic City and he brought a candle to put in the hotel bathroom. We looked at him as if he’d a grown a second nose out of his forehead.

So you say you want more evidence of my friend’s metrosexuality?  Well, he owns more shoes than a Kardashian, he once had highlights put in by his “stylist”, and he wears Calvin Klein underwear.

So, somewhat unfairly, we tease him mercilessly. All in good fun of course.

The only time we ever seriously disagree is on his parenting methods. He and his wife are into the “new age” or “progressive” parenting stuff. I think some of it is ridiculous and I tell them so. This is always a touchy subject. You know, people don’t usually take kindly to folks telling them how to raise their children. So, I tread lightly.

Sort of.

Here’s where he and I disagree . . .

A couple years ago I went to their house before Christmas and noticed the Christmas Tree was only decorated from about 4-feet on up. When I asked why this was so, his wife said, “Oh, Isiah keeps ripping the ornaments off so we just keep them out of reach.”

Hold on. What?

I told them, in my own charming way, that I had a unique and innovative idea for them. How about, you know, saying “no”?

Their answer was he wouldn’t listen. I suggested saying the magic word “no” again and sitting him on the couch or in his room, then repeat as required. Well, that would make him cry so they couldn’t have that. Might be mentally scarred for life.

Sigh.

Now they have another little boy and when one has a birthday they both get gifts so the other won’t feel left out.

Please.

If there’s a problem with one of the kids, my friend and his wife never, ever yell at or, God forbid, grab or (gasp) spank their kids. Instead, they sit them down and attempt to reason with them. I find this hilarious. Why? Because you can’t reason with a 5-year old. At that age they simply don’t have the capacity or ability or language or life experience to understand what we’re saying. It’s this type of parenting that leads children to think they are equals to us and have the right to share their opinions.

Well, they don’t. Not until they grow up and, well, earn it.

But hey, again, just my opinion. It seems as if I’ve irritated a few readers with my stuff lately and maybe this will be another one of those blogs.

Nothing wrong with a little healthy debate, right?

And after all, I’m sure there are a lot of good points to the whole “progressive parenting” movement, and Lord knows I made plenty of mistakes as a dad. Maybe decorating the top half of your Christmas Tree is the way to go.

So, perhaps I can even loosen up and learn from my metrosexual friend. I really am trying to keep an open mind.

But I’ll never, ever iron my jeans.