Acceptably Soiled

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Acceptably Soiled

I have never gotten along with my parents. You might say it basically boils down to the fact that we are different people. This explanation doesn’t really explain anything as I’m different than pretty much everyone. However, I’m now a new parent and the shoe is on the other foot. As a new parent, I have come to realize the fundamental tension between me and my parents is the fact that they are my parents.

First of all, they took me out of a climate controlled environment in which all my needs were met, and everything has been downhill from there.

After I was born, I had to learn things like how to breathe and swallow milk. At this point, I’ve pretty much got it down. But back in the day it was tough, and the consequences of failure were high for someone who didn’t have control of his own bowels.

But the thing that was really problematic, that created the real lifelong tension between me and my parents, was the issue of clothing.

As a parent, I now know that changing baby clothes is a difficult job. I am stronger than my daughter, but she is stronger willed. Besides, she can sleep at any time. I am relegated to the hours of two am to five am on a good night. Let’s just say she hates having her clothes taken off as much as she hates having new ones put on.

Take two months of sleep deprivation, combine it with my daughter’s incessant bowel movements, and you have the foundations of a lifetime of hate.

My daughter, as I’m sure I did, sometimes soils her clothing. However, I have found my notions of personal cleanliness and hygiene warped to the point that I am starting to debate the exact amount of fecal matter that would necessitate a change of clothing for my daughter.

This means that my parents did the same thing to me, and I truly believe this is at the heart of our problems. Knowing that my parents probably were up late one night with a crying baby (me) and debating the merits of changing me versus letting me wallow in my own filth is definitely the root of our interpersonal issues.

Sure, some people might say our differences might be attributable to other things, like the fact that we have nothing in common. This is probably true, but really more a symptom than a cause.

In light of these recent revelations, I’ve been thinking of starting a band. We could call ourselves “Acceptably Soiled”. We would probably play angst ridden grunge music in coffee shops.

On the plus side, I still have many of my flannel shirts left over from the early nineties. Unfortunately, my idea hasn’t been cool for about as long. The first time I walked into a chain grocery store and realized that a Nirvana song was being played to lull the shoppers into spending, I wanted to cry.

I settled for making sure my bald spot was sufficiently covered by my pony tail. It took all my concentration to keep from singling along with the song as I’ve seen my dad do to old James Taylor songs in the supermarket. Besides, I hate that man. I reject him and his doctrine of acceptably soiled clothes as my daughter will one day do to me. Maybe I need to continue searching for the perfect band name.