Hold my hand, PLEASE!

It was bound to happen, and today my six-year-old son decided to cut the public apron strings by passing up an opportunity to hold my hand on the way into school.
Not willing to miss an opportunity to embarrass him, I called out loudly to the principal who was standing by the door.

"Mrs. Swaim, Mrs. Swaim!" I called out. "This young man needs to go to the office for failing to hold his mother's hand on the way into school."
Of course she played along, admonishing him for shunning the woman who carried him for nine months, labored for eight hours, and gave up countless hours of sleep to ensure his very existance.

Good thing I've been expecting this, as there was a time I, myself, had no parents. Sure, there was this "guy" who drove me to school in junior high school and insisted on a kiss in front of all of my friends. He was relagated to dropping me off a block away to ensure no one saw him.
Yes, I looked a lot like him. Yes, he was in my baby pictures... but father? No way.
Same with the lady who sometimes hung around too long when she dropped me off at the skating rink. The same guy sometimes picked us up from there, and often he showed up in work boots, army pants and a v-neck t-shirt. He was instructed to stand outside while Cheryl and I changed from our skates into our Candies high-heeled shoes (combined with the green eyeshadow) that made us look more stupid than he ever did.

I still wonder where along the way kids get the idea that the very notion of "having parents" is not cool. I mean, where do they think THEY came from? Do we need to start sex education a little sooner?

Who decided it was cooler to have parents who were "invisible" than a cohesive unit who actually cared?

Good thing this phase is usually fleeting. It turns out that my parents were quite popular among my friends, and by high school I was pleased to have them nearby.
Still, I will probably never forgive my father for his choice of clothing when picking us up at Skateland. He loved to embarrass us; it was a game to him that he enjoyed immensely.
And to my own son, Cameron, I say... let the games begin!