One of the first ‘grown-up’ movies I attentively watched and
enjoyed as a child was the John Hughes feature Mr. Mom. In the film, Jack Butler [Michael Keaton] is laid off from
his job and reverses daytime roles with his wife [Teri Garr], she returning to
the workforce while he assumes the responsibilities of a stay-at-home parent.
The movie is filled with the situational fuckupery you might expect of
a man accustomed to the daily grind of 1980’s corporate shenanigans taking on
the full time parent gig—dinners are burned, diapers explode, blankies are lost.
But my favorite scene occurs when Jack drops off the kids at school for the
first time. As Jack tries to meander through oncoming traffic, his eldest son
chides him, claims mommy doesn't go this way, says: “You’re doing it wrong.” Jack
protests, claims he using the Jack Butler Method, fudges his way through car
after car honking and throwing spiteful looks at him, until another fellow mommy approaches the car,
motions for him to roll down the window, and tells him, “Hi Jack. I’m Annette.
You’re doing it wrong.” She goes on to explain that she tells all the new mommies
to enter through the south and exit through the north, and then in reverse for
pick-up.
I don’t know why I felt such a kinship to this moment in the
life of the fictional Jack Butler, even as a child. There was very little about
my six-year-old self that would have connected in the logical sense with a
mid-thirties stay-at-home dad. But the sentiment, even at such a young age,
resonated with me. I was often ‘doing it wrong’.
That phrase still reverberates. I’m a parent and a
homeowner. I have a master’s degree and a minivan. I’m a Marine Corps wife, for
god’s sake. Why is it that I can’t get my shit together and quit working at the
nudie bar and grow the fuck up and start doing it right?
Why is it the things that make me say aloud, “Oh my God, I
love my life” also frequently accompany the thought “What am I doing with my
life?”. I love my life because, despite all the shit I complain about, I’m a
really happy person. And I am surrounded by people who make me laugh, and that’s
currency in my house.
Someone asked me recently what I would do if I didn't have writing
and teaching and dancing in my underwear taking up all my work hours. More
specifically, the question was: “What would be your dream job?” And I’ve
thought about that a bunch. The answer to this is very simple. My dreams rarely,
if ever, involve jobs. I know myself well enough that if I were to overhaul my
life and start working an eight-to-five in an office with cubicles and break
rooms and industrial lighting, my soul would die. That sounds like melodrama,
but I’m not kidding you. I’d give myself six months until I was deeply
medically depressed and crying uncontrollably on a daily basis. I’m just not
made for that kind of thing. And though it enters my mind occasionally that I
might be doing it wrong, that this seemingly bizarre life I've created is
steeped in madness, I’m also reminded that I’m so much happier than most of the
people I know who are doing it right.
And maybe that’s why I developed that childhood crush on
Jack Butler, and why I could find humor in his consistent doing it wrong. Because
maybe I knew even as a child that I would hear that over and over again and
that I should just start laughing at it early. I've done it all wrong, and
backwards, and out of order, and the refrain has sometimes been Jack, you’re doing it wrong, but I’m
learning as I get older that the people singing that chorus are people I don’t
really like much anyway. And they’re unhappy people, and often unhappy because
they've made life choices based on what everyone told them was doing it right.
It’s too late for me to derail from my crazy train now. I’ve
gotten a taste of what it means to find the beauty in humanity and not succumb to
the bullshit we’ve made up along way. I’m relishing in doing it wrong.
To fully appreciate the Jack Butler Method-
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