Personal essay: Too hip to be cool?

Me? I simply crank up the Frank Sinatra, preferably one of those smashing Nelson Riddle horn arrangements from the 1950s. I think this is hilarious, but my son shrinks into the passenger seat and prays that none of his friends pass by.

I used to play guitar in a band, but our repertoire of Van Morrison and CCR covers didn't earn me the "street cred" I'd hoped for. Apparently, bands that are old enough to have appeared on black-and- white TV are not cool. Still, I can't fault my son for developing his own standards, independent of parental good taste and artistic judgment. In his world, loud and obnoxious beats sweet and sentimental, dissonance trumps harmony, new is always better than old, and the best music should in some way offend your parents.

Runs in the family
It was the same when I was a kid in the '70s, except my parents weren't terribly offended by my extensive collection of Barry Manilow and Elton John albums. Worried, perhaps, but certainly not offended.

I get the distinct impression that, in order to avoid being perceived as "totally uncool," there are certain rules I am expected to observe. For example: Cease and desist with all public displays of affection. Wave goodbye if you must, but try not to be enthusiastic. Do not, under any circumstances, mention the pink bicycle in front of anyone who is not immediate family. And, in general, do not try to be one of us, for we are young and you are old and this is God's will.

Vancouver Island resident Brennan Clarke is happy to play the role of uncool dad to his preteen son. He can often be found riding his pink bicycle along the Galloping Goose trail in his hometown of Victoria.

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