Silent Night

Once upon a time in a castle far away in the northern kingdom, after several years of happy anticipation, a little baby girl was born to the reigning Princess Panacea. Though possessed of her father's less than spectacular looks, the little girl fortunately developed some little charm of her own, bolstered by her mother's frequent makeovers and soon became the delight of her doting parents.

Though perhaps they had doted a little too much on their Petulant Pill. 

Barely did the Princess Panacea wander a foot away from the child, there would be whines, whimpers and wails enough to shake the castle to the rafters. Soon Panacea could scarcely move an inch away without the resounding keening lamentation that came to be known as the Pillsong. Though the apple of her parents' eyes, the screeching little girl soon became the dreaded gorgon that reigned in the castle nursery much to the unending horror of the nurse, the nursemaids and the servants. Each night as the Pill finally cried herself to sleep, the rest of the castle lit a candle hoping for a white knight to come rescue them. 

Away from the Petulant Pill. 

Prince : Perhaps the magical unicorns would still her cries.
Panacea : Yeah that's gonna happen. 

Sounds less like a sweet fairytale and more like a recurring nightmare actually. Though some parts have been wildly exaggerated, for the most part the sad story above is firmly rooted in reality. So much so that Pretty Panacea finds it hard to even leave her house, which is how it took more than a year before she managed to return for a visit with the baby. Ever the protective first time parent, Panacea finds herself loath to leave the child by her wee lonesome - not even under the care of her own elderly parents.

Something I realized when the Pill seemed abnormally attached to her everywhere she went.

Paul : You didn't leave the Pill with your parents? 
Panacea : No. Never. 
Paul : You haven't gone out without the Pill? 
Panacea : No. Never!
Paul : Why? Your parents are living next door? So are your husband's parents? Isn't that why you chose to live so close by? 
Panacea : But the Pill can't be left alone with them. She would cry!
Paul : Uh. So?
Panacea : She would cry!
Paul : Trust me on this but no baby ever died from crying. 

Come on, seriously did anyone ever die from crying?

Till I pointed it out plainly, she didn't even realize that her baby hadn't been left in the care of anyone else in the family for even a measly ten minutes. Apparently the ensuing raucous wails would be heard from several blocks away. Like any other over-enthusiastic first-time helicopter parents, Panacea then handed me the lame excuse of her own parents not knowing what to do with a newborn. As I've heard that very same irrational reason several dozen times before, I knew exactly what to say.

Paul : Excuse you. Your parents managed to keep you alive and well till you're grown enough to have a child of your own. You haven't. 

Perhaps I would have been a little more understanding if she were handing her child to an unfamiliar caretaker but really, her own parents. Really. Are you seriously trying to challenge your own parents when it comes to parenting? Like come on.

Let your parents be grandparents, and perhaps then there might actually be a Silent Night.

The One Where Everyone's Gay : The Raya Edition

Dinner with the parents is always fraught with danger.

Even more so when the parents are devout God-fearing Muslims and you just invited a gaggle of flaming gay men over for nasi kerabu dinner.

Rather than the hilarious opening act of a heady CW sitcom, this actually took place last weekend for the recent Raya celebrations. Ever the eternal optimist, Kitty Kat ignored the religious condemnation concern and bravely welcomed the deviant lot of us to her open house. Already apprised of her parents' increasingly orthodox leanings, we all promised to be on our best #masc #butch behaviour.

Of course our ever welcoming hostess told us to ignore all that and just be ourselves but hey, we obviously aim to pass. Feather boas, high-pitched squeals and limp wrists all packed away into the proverbial closets. Practicing our high fives and fist bumps several days beforehand, Fabulous Felix and I were already all ready to bro it out.

At the most we would have gotten a diverted chortle from her husband.

Gay? We're not gay. Who's gay? 

Turns out there was hardly any mention of it during dinner where we wined and dined on the most delicious raya spread ever, with hardly any burning pitchforks or conscientious sermons! I was hoping for at least one impassioned  'Return to the godly path, my son' but nothing was said apart from repeated entreaties to enjoy ourselves.

Or at least that was what we thought till much later in the evening when we'd all made our way home. And we were all ready to clap ourselves on the backs for being able to successfully pass for straight! Apparently Kat's mother had already known that at least one of us was the dreaded homosexual which is how Kitty Kat and Sober Sam soon found themselves cornered with dozens of urgently curious queries.

Mother : So which one was the gay one, my dear? 
Kat : All of them. 
Mother : Oh my God, I was feeding all the gays? 
Sam : Did you intend to starve out the gays? 
Father : But they didn't look like gays!
Kat : What kinda look is that? 
Father : The gay look!
Kat : Anyway not all of them are out yet. At least one still in the closet but he hangs around with the other boys so surely everyone knows. 
Father : But you guys hang around them too! People probably think you're gay!
Sam : But we have a child now!
Father : The lengths you guys go to keep it a secret.

Absolutely hilarious. I couldn't have written it better!

Wouldn't surprise me if the indignant father spent the entire weekend eyeing Sober Sam askance.

It did however explain why the parents spent the most part of the evening hiding from the heathen lot since as we all know, homosexuality is highly contagious. Fortunately for gay tolerance, the parents did however acknowledge that we were all nice boys - even better since we cleaned up after ourselves - so there's a high chance we would have favourable prayers said in our names!

Takes A Village

Bringing up a child is no easy matter. Even with two parents around, it's an unenviable - usually thankless - task that takes up endless time and effort.

However lately we seem to have forgotten that the upbringing of a child isn't only wholly dependent on the already overwhelmed parents. Lest we forget it takes a village. Problem is the modern villagers these days seem to think the entire hardship of childrearing shouldn't be their burden to bear.

Even when the child is a part of the family.

The children return to Castle Borgia. 

Something I find difficult to fathom. Especially when it comes from Benedicta Borgia. Seems like the new year brought a real nian 年兽 to their door.

Calvin : Actually we spent the new year babysitting a monster. 
Paul : Not the monsters from under the house? 
Calvin : No. 
Benedicta : You wouldn't believe how obnoxious the child was. Screaming and wailing all day long.
Paul : Well you should have reprimanded the child. 
Benedicta : How could I? 
Paul : How could you not? 
Benedicta : But it's not my child. 
Paul : She's your niece. 
Benedicta : Still not my child. 
Paul : She's part of your family. A quick scold would have sufficed. 
Benedicta : What would the parents think?
Paul : They should know better. 

And if they think otherwise, really I would have given the parents a stern lecture as well.

Despite being seemingly conservative Confucian, the Borgias surprisingly don't seem to hold to all that many traditions and attitudes. Apparently even a niece doesn't count entirely as part of their own. Which I find odd since in my own loud boisterous family, my uncles and aunts - possibly even random unknown elderly folk who aren't even vaguely related - would have walloped me swiftly if I'd stepped over the line. Certainly kept us all in check.

Something I've been doing as a crotchety uncle these days as well; so far, none of the rugrats have defied my evil eye.

Actually cross the line and I would have threatened the proverbial cane. Never believed in sparing the rod. Steadfast child educationists might screech in horror but really, have their namby pamby methods actually produced a finer, better behaved society?

Happy Family

Judging from the religious orthodoxy perpetually wailing over the wholly imagined homosexual agenda with desperate calls to start rehabilitation camps and so on, it's pretty clear that this country isn't exactly a renowned bastion of homotolerance. These days with their increasingly narrow-minded world view, even a hint of liberalism is seen to be a bad thing.

Nonetheless even with such ludicrous restrictions from the all-knowing clergy, the common people persevere. Perhaps their parochial prejudice has even driven the rest of the people in the other direction towards tolerance and liberalism.

Well, we can always hope.

Especially when surprisingly simple yet subversive items like that crop up every once in a while to remind you that things do get better. Just take a look at a recent primary school workbook with a sketch of the family tree. Simple enough homework to note down the familial relationships in the typical nuclear family.

Except there's nothing very typical about this family. Though my friends already offered some hints, it actually took me quite a while to see it but if you look closely you'll find two boys finding true love amongst the ruins.

Check out an example of the harmonious family in wonderfully progressive Malaysia

Harmonious family indeed!

Now whoever said our country isn't at all progressive? Neighbouring Vietnam might have beaten us to legalizing gay marriage but that seems to be already a fait accompli here, regardless of the current legal situation! Not only do we teach primary students all about gay marriages, we even have them adopting an entire passel of children, seemingly of different races. Even more shocking, one of the gay fathers seems to have come from a decidedly religious family - judging by the obvious songkoks on their respective heads.

Not sure what the hapless students are supposed to fill in on the blank spaces of course. Maybe Dad and Father? Or the colloquial Malay equivalent of Ayah and Bapa? Things apparently do get better!

So literally who's your daddy!

Obviously an unfortunate ( or would that be fortunate in our case ) error in publishing though it certainly successfully ignited the internet social media for a while with the usual tasteless jokes about gay men - though I did sense a little less homophobic vitriol of the burning pitchfork kind. Let's hope that bodes well for the future!

Hope to scour the town for a copy of the notorious workbook if I can - though I figure the much harassed publisher would hastily recover most copies after realizing their priceless mistake. 

Daddy Warbucks

There are times when I do actually envy my niece and nephew.

Paul : Man, I wish I had an uncle who would buy me everything when I was a kid. 
Mother : You weren't exactly impoverished. 
Paul : Yeah but it's different to have an uncle just buy whatever I pick out at the store. 

Since my niece and nephew do live a thousand miles away - especially with me across the Big Puddle, I do try to spoil them whenever and wherever I can. Isn't that the solemn duty of a doting uncle after all? And it's not often that I find my wallet so pleasantly filled. So despite their father's constant nagging about financial prudence to his disinterested kids, lo and behold their devoted uncle comes along and buys them whatever they can reasonably carry to the store counter.

And we're not counting their shockingly spendthrift grandparents yet.

Lucky kids they are. And I was dead envious.

What? Another LV bag? Meh. 

Till I realized that it does make them cherish their gifts just a bit less. When you have adoring relatives constantly bestowing largesse in the forms of gifts, it does tend to become a tad less special, doesn't it? What is one more pretty dress when you have an entire closet full already? What is one more toy gun when there's practically an arsenal enough to take down a toy nation?

Find that just a little sad.

There is a small book of poetry, something of very little significance to anyone else but me, kept wrapped up in a silk sash in my bedside drawer. Certainly faded, worn and dog-eared since it should be roughly the same age as I am, given to me on the day of my birth. Lots of fireworks and fanfare for the birth of the first child so it's easy enough to dismiss the birth of the second. So you can imagine that it was the only commemoration I had as the second child.

And I did treasure the book, possibly quite as much as Gollum with his precious ring. Think I read every simple rhyme in it, memorized every etching in the plain hand-painted drawings. Even the foreword with a brief note bearing good wishes still rings true.

To appreciate the sun, you gotta know what the rain is. 

In the days of plenty, we do tend to forget how to appreciate what we already have. Wonder if years from now, my niece and nephew would still value one of their gifts quite as much.  

The Art of French Parenting

For some peculiar reason better knownst to himself - even before I told him of my recent babymaking project - our friend Charming Calvin has decided to take up French Parenting. When I first heard it, I wondered if I'd mistook what he'd told me - like did he mean French Painting? French Cooking? French Baking?

Ah, I remember Paris!

Turns out it really was French Parenting! Something I can reasonably assume from his recent obsession with books expounding the relative merits of said Parenting. Whether inspired by the tortured father figure Jean Valjean and his overindulgent upbringing of Cosette or the recent opening of a oh-so-painfully-chic French cafe just a stone's throw away from his workplace... who knows.

Whatever his reasons, the man has taken to walking around with the latest bestseller by Pamela Druckerman guiding new parents to the world of French Parenting wherever he goes, possibly hoping to bring up his own bebe.

Paul : Does that mean you'll be the French parent?
Calvin : Oui oui!
Paul : So while I'll be the mean Asian Tiger parent holding the cane, you'll be donning fetching black berets and eating French baguettes?
Calvin : Mais oui!
Paul : Sure that's the extent of the book? 
Calvin : Oui!
Paul : That's the extent of your French, isn't it?
Calvin : Oui!
Paul : If that is so, you'd better learn to cook like the French as well.

Then Calvin starts with his painfully accurate Julia Child routine. After all that reading I should hope at least he'll learn how to say non when it comes to the bebe!

It's All In The Genes

Since Father's Day just came and went just a week back, I figured it's time to talk about my plans for impending fatherhood - with fingers crossed and all that.

Longtime readers of this blog would have heard me going on and on and on about surrogacy / adoption etc. Even had more than one friend try to talk me out of it. No doubt I had to shelve all those fanciful daydreams for a while, what with my exams and my subsequent transfer after that. But it seems as if my life has finally settled down for a while, giving me time to dust off those almost forgotten plans of mine.

Especially when a trusted friend of mine gave me a significant nudge by sending me a flyer. :)

So yes despite all the nagging naysayers, I have been checking out surrogacy / adoption plans again, seriously this time. Always just hoping, wishing, thinking and planning about it isn't exactly gonna make it happen. Even roped in the help of a lawyer pal to review any possible legal problems that could crop up in the future.

Think it's about time I considered it.

For a homosexual man, turns out it isn't as easy as getting knocked up after one too many drinks at the bar. Ah so much easier for the straight boys sometimes. Not that many viable choices at hand but I have been going through the options available for me.

Adoption is a possibility but the waiting list is really long. And oddly enough there's nary an orphanage close by, only a foster home which is not exactly open for adoption.

With surrogacy being a definite possibility, it led me to wondering who should be the biological father. Wouldn't automatically assume that I should be the one bearing that responsibility - gosh my hideous troll genes? - but the more I think about Charming Calvin, the more I worry about the potential ramifications. Sure he's cute and smart and all.... but honestly he has the crappy immune system of an aged geriatric with an allergic response quicker to react than the Iranian moral police.

Mailed a couple of fertility clinics to check them out but of course, first I had to find out if I actually had viable swimmers.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Day-Time

Popular belief maintains that keeping a pet is good training for having a baby in the future. Though a child is something I would want in the near future ( willing surrogates anyone? ), I don't see why I'd have to attempt the amateur route first.

Something Mercurial Marshall obviously failed to realize when he first adopted his newborn puppy. Hoping for a proper guard dog for his cosy cottage, Marshall received an unanticipated lesson in dog-parenting instead. With his little dog perpetually in tow, he is beginning to realize that his footloose fancy-free bachelor days would be at an end.

I said no, you're not coming to dinner with me!

Especially when it comes to spontaneous weekend escapades. Flighty caprice simply isn't the best trait for potential daddy-wannabes.

Which sadly left Marshall in a quandary when he needed to leave for his... irregular extracurricular activities.

Being such a frugal fellow, Marshall only briefly entertained the thought of a canine hotel before laying his hopes on his friends. Unfortunately he had me as one of his mates. Not only is my disaffection for animals quite patently obvious, there is also my peculiar penchant for exotic meats - with canine flesh being somewhere on the top of my list.

Marshall : Could you babysit my puppy for a week?
Paul : Not a problem. 
Marshall : Thanks. 
Paul : Remind me to get coal for the barbecue pit though. 
Marshall : Huh?
Paul : Probably tough, stringy meat. Would need to marinade for long I bet. 
Marshall : Umm.

The Borgia Strikes Back

I should have known that the recent peaceful lull wouldn't last for long.

Madame Borgia always has something up her sleeve after all.

Certainly struck me as highly suspicious when Charming Calvin's mother accepted his controversial decision to remain semi-permanently in the Sin City with perfect equanimity. Even the fact that he'd spirited away his financial documents from right under her watchful eye failed to raise a maternal eyebrow. I would have expected tears of recrimination for the former - and possibly a full wailing bout of hysteria at the latter.

Uncharacteristically Madame Borgia remained silent.


I sense a disturbance in the force!
Falsely assumed that all was right in her happy suburban Pleasantville - even with a gay son cohabitating with shameless licentiousness in the big bad city. Charming Calvin even hoped optimistically that she'd taken the first steps towards being a PFLAG mom!

Yet my suspicions were proven correct when Madame Borgia called Calvin up one morning with a surprising inquiry.

Madame : Are you still gay?
Calvin : Uhh.. Yes?
Madame : It's time your turned your back on such licentiousness!
Calvin : W-what?
Madame : How can you live in such a wicked den of iniquity! Think of your poor papa! His weak heart! How could you!
Calvin : W-what?

Playing the guilt card of course.

Though such a veritable tsunami of tearful accusations would only piss me off, it obviously worked on our tender-hearted Charming Calvin. Poor fellow was put though an emotional wringer as our sly Madame Borgia used every visceral weapon at her disposal, from ailing fathers to a scarcity of communication on his part. Though we had both hoped that time would help increase her tolerance for his irregular ways, that obviously hasn't happened. Seems her homophobic stand hasn't wavered in the least.

Seriously doubt even a blow to the head would help change her mind.

Especially when she's busy dredging up his father's medical condition. Don't think Calvin would be comforted by the fact that heart ailments don't exactly stem from emotional upheavals.

A pity though. At best I think Calvin can only accept a hate the sin, love the sinner stance from his unforgiving mother. Anything more than begrudging tolerance would be nothing short of a miracle.

Guess I can stop counting on her coming as a guest at our engagement.

Fathers & Sons

Gay men don't love themselves overly much.

Quite a number actually loathe themselves. Something I've come to realize slowly but surely especially when issues pertaining to homosexuality crop up. Think I can deal with the slightest tinge of homophobia when it comes to an unenlightened roughneck, in fact I'd probably expect it.

But when it comes from my fellow gay brethren, I find myself at point-non-plus - especially when they start spouting surprisingly anti-homosexual diatribes. Feels like a bloody stab in the back at times. Et tu, Bruté?


Parenthood
So why do they hate themselves? Indoctrinated with the seeming everyday normalcy of heterosexuality at home and in school, can we actually accept ourselves? Do gay men actually internalize our homophobia? Bury it deep beneath flighty layers of fey nonchalance only to have the dark, dirty thoughts claw through unbidden when issues such as gay parenthood crop up.

Protestor : Why would you even consider it? It's not normal! Why would you subject this pitiful orphan to such an irregular, unhealthy family!
Paul : And why would it be wrong?
Protestor : Because gay life is wrong.
Paul : So your life is wrong?

And that's one of the more reasonable answers I've gotten.

So yes, there are gay men out there who actually think of themselves as abnormal freaks unworthy of a satisfying life. With such internalized homophobia, no wonder gay suicides are on the rise - with the ex-gay movement gaining significant ground.

Most of the disapproving detractors fear the kid would be discriminated against because of his unconventional family. But trust me even if the child were born into the most perfect family, the mean bullies would invariably sniff out the smallest weakness - whether the family, the upbringing or even the way they style their hair. It's how you deal with such bullying that matters really.

Though I certainly wouldn't wish for my kid to be discriminated against, I also hope any kid of mine wouldn't be such a spineless wimp that he can't handle such adversity.

Be My Daddy

When are you ready to be a father?

Despite all the hoping and planning, I honestly don't think anyone's actually ready for the reality of parenthood. From what I've seen of the young parents I know, I think everyone just trips, falls and prays hard they actually land on something reasonably solid after.

So I've always figured why not me. I've always wondered what kinda dad I'd be. Certainly have no plans to practice parenting on cats and dogs. At the moment, the usual methods of obtaining a baby doesn't seem applicable to me. Don't think I'm gonna go straight anytime soon. Surrogacy in India could prove somewhat costly with the legitimacy ( and nationality? ) of the baby in serious doubt.


Be my Daddy!
Hence the occasional comment to the nurses here about offering adoption whenever I see an unwed teenage Juno. Which turns out to be more often than you'd imagine. But obviously the nurses here don't really trust my intentions since commitment-phobic single men tend to flee at the sight of drooling newborns.

Not run towards them.

Paul : I wonder whether they'd give up the baby for adoption.
Nurse : Haha. Imagine if you had one at your doorstep one day.
Paul : I think that would be a very good day actually.
Nurse : OMG You are serious!

Well perhaps half-serious.

Enough to be caught unprepared when a couple of the nurses accosted me today to confirm whether I was in earnest. With teenage pregnancies on the rise here - and none of the feckless tweens wanting to take the motherhood route, it seems there's always someone willing to give up their baby for adoption. Certainly a better alternative to baby-dumping.

So they wondered whether I was serious about adopting.

Which left me somewhat speechless.

Always thought this would be a question to answer when I'm a little more settled. Am I ready? Emotionally, perhaps. Financially, probably. Spiritually, God I hope so. But with my partner miles away on the wrong side of the Big Puddle, I wonder if I can go it alone. Being a single dad? Late night feedings and cranky mornings? Baby drool on silk shirts and dirty diapers in leather messenger bags?

:) Well I've never exactly shied away from a challenge.

Don't Try This at School, Kids

You know those television ads where they warn kids not to try ridiculously dangerous stunts at home? As unpolitically correct as I am, well most of the advice I'd give should carry that very same warning. Seriously. Don't try it.

Being the new girl in school, it's quite obvious that my lil niece Chatty Carmen is gonna have to deal with some chilly alienation at least in the beginning. They don't exactly call them mean girls for nothing. Forget about the welcome bandwagon, these nasty mini-socialistas aren't about to hand out free cupcakes for fresh newbies.


Ouch. Well, at least she didn't get egged like poor Jonathan did in Gossip Girl. Those Upper East Side mean girls can really pack a carton.


So what to do when a kid comes crying in such instances?

I know the sensible fatherly thing to do would be to wipe their tears and offer sage advice to passively turn the other cheek. It's the rational zen Jesus/Buddha/Gandhi thing to do. After all, such snotty, superficial bitch cliques wouldn't be the sort of crowd I'd want my child to have. There are many other children with warmer, generous hearts who would welcome them gladly.

At least that's what I would say. Though I would have to bite my tongue. Hard.

Since I'd want revenge so bad. I'd have gotten mad. And gotten even. Don't believe in taking such things lying down - short of having a hot fella on top. Although I might not have been the reigning Queen Bee in school ( even if there was such a thing in an all-boys school! ), I certainly gained a reputation for demanding an-eye-for-an-eye. And maybe a torn, bleeding ear so you learn not to step on my tail again.


Are we going to take revenge?
Such a sinful taste for vengeance certainly helped me remain largely unmolested throughout my school career. Getting egged? Back then, I would have dumped an entire garbage disposal of eggs and feathers down into your car. And your locker. And your schoolbag. And egged you twice.

Just to get even.

Not exactly what's been taught by the kindly Dr Seuss in his kid-friendly books. Hopefully I've grown out of that entire Spirit of Vengeance insanity. At least I do know I can't teach such horrific values to the impressionable children! Guess I'll have to bite my tongue!

Sinead's Hand

With religious conservatives gaining momentum in our country, equal civil rights ( and obviously gay rights ) seems to lie terribly far in the misty future. Much less any thoughts of ever achieving gay marriage. Probably a doubtful speck in the distant horizon. Tolerance is as much as we can hope for sometimes.

A sobering thought. But we persevere as always. Probably as gay men have always done through the centuries of homophobic repression. Not only persevere but we prosper as well.

Why the sudden renewal of interest in gay marriage? Well I am at that uncomfortable age where my heterosexual peers have all settled down ( reluctantly or not ) with a passel of squealing kids, where weekends are spent at organized barbecues with child-friendly facilities, where dinner parties and daycare nurseries have become the main topic at the water cooler. Probably a position I would have been in if I had been born straight.


Who's your daddy?
Though I might be accused of pandering to the heterosexual norm, I actually find myself envying them. Suburban picket fences with 2.6 schoolgoing kids and a dog? That's me.

So yes, I admit I have been spending time going through adoption blogs amd surrogacy programs. Though I haven't yet set up shop with Charming Calvin, it's always been a goal of mine to have a child. Perhaps not today but maybe a couple of tomorrows to come. Probably not one of my own flesh and blood - unless I get the wherewithal ( and the small fortune ) to travel to India for a surrogate mother. From what I've heard from the local grapevine, finding an indigent orphan in the interior regions would be the way to go.

Some would say it's as improbable a hope as that faint mirage in the horizon - but hey, we all have dreams.

As do our boys over in Ireland. So for the naysayers against gay marriage, all they have to do is take a look..


A simple yet effective ad.

Spank Me Daddy

I'm gonna be so unpopular.

At least if I turn daddy.

During weekends while the other boys are out to play at the clubs and pubs, Charming Calvin and I take to babysitting. Seriously. With my brother working half the world away and my sister-in-law closing down the house prior to leaving, the kids are left to us at the end of the week. Headaches aside, at least I've had the opportunity to see Calvin handle a lil bit of parenting.


Children should be heard and seen!
Sweet and playful he might be with the children but just let me say, disciplinarian he ain't. My niece and nephew aren't the easiest. Left to Calvin's parenting devices, I bet the kids would probably run amuck causing havoc in the home.

The kids were squabbling over a toy and I had to step in to mediate. Though mediate would be an understatement for what I did.

So I can imagine Calvin's reaction when Kids gone Wild.

Nate : Bloody fuck. Can I leave for school early?
Paul : Watch your words, young man. Sit down and finish your breakfast first.
Nate : But the food sucks.
Paul : It's healthy. Would you rather starve?
Nate : Dad, but I want to...
Paul : This isn't a democracy. You don't get a vote.
Calvin : Come on, Nate, just take your breakfast. I'll even make you some hot cocoa.
Nate : But dad!
Paul : Nathaniel Christopher Wong Kar Wai.
Calvin : Quick, eat up, Nate.

Not that my kid would ever misbehave in that way since I'd spank him to an inch of his life.

Damn. I am gonna be the parent they so love to hate! But I guess someone has to draw the line.

Home Sweet Home

They say home is where the heart is.

Mine is in a double-storey Moorish-style bungalow set away in a quieter part of town. From my usual perch on the window seat - even with my eyes closed - I could picture the rolling lawn in the back where I'd played with my GI Joes and Barbies under the shade of the flame of the forest. My two dads always insisted on equal opportunity after all.

Yeah. That's two dads. Pa J and Dad P.

"Great to have you back, Nate. We've missed you." My father's lazy, methodical drawl washes gently over me and I open my eyes. Slow and steady, that's Pa J for ya.

I did have my reasons for coming home sooner than expected. Though he's busy scanning through the morning paper, my other dad, P is already looking at me with growing suspicion - possibly formulating dozens of reasons for my return ranging from the mundane such as teenage pregnancy to the horrific such as flunking out. Judging from his previous tirades on the importance of education, I'm sure Dad P would much prefer the knocked up scenario.

However we only talked about everyday stuff during the ride back from the station. Hope Dad P hasn't guessed the truth yet. Then again, what the hell am I saying! He probably already knows. Probably drawing it out to torture the truth out of me. "Just needed to get back for a while, pa. College's been bugging me."

Ever understanding, Pa J pushes a mug of steaming coffee into my hands and I smile. Though he doesn't drink it, there's always a warm steady pot ready for both me and Dad P - the caffeine-addicted duo. Setting a plate of home-baked breakfast muffins in front of me, he glances at my face in worry. "You look tired. Maybe you should get some sleep first."

Taking a sip and sighing, I lean back against the recessed wall. "It's alright, pa. Just a really long ride on the tube. I'll be okay after some coffee."


Standing by the window
From his spot on the breakfast table, Dad P raises a cool eyebrow. After more than two decades of steady partnership, he knows how to keep his counsel - and his bitingly sharp tongue. Getting some rest immediately after travel wouldn't be his idea of fun. Dad P would claim that it's for wimps.

And it's true - for him at least. Never actually seen him sit still. Like a buzzing livewire held still, Pa J claims he'd probably explode from the sheer tension.

That's Dad P. Always involved in one project or another ever since I was a kid, forever rushing in and out of the door at a breathless pace. It's no wonder that the exhausted students at the medical school call him Professor Sonic ( the Hedgehog ) behind his back. Ever omniscient, Dad P knows of his stern taskmaster reputation but doesn't mind the occasional unflattering sobriquet. After all, he's dreamt up handy nicknames for half of his students as well.

Even now though he's scaled back dramatically on work, I've noticed that the home decor has changed dramatically since the last time I was back. The curtains were new as was the beautifully-aged cabinet in the hallway. No doubt he'd reupholstered the sofa himself as well - cursing himself black and blue. Even the mug I held had been made by him for my 6th birthday.

And I didn't need to ask if he'd baked the breakfast muffins himself. After all, we'd perfected the recipe together last summer.

No, indolence isn't Dad P's style. But it certainly suits Pa J to a T. How many times had I come home only to find Pa J snoring away on the hammock he'd hung out back during his regular afternoon siesta - the Sudoku he'd half-finished fallen to the ground - while Dad P potters around the house with his DIY tools looking for a project, ear-strapped to his mobile while writing up a storm in his PDA.

Dad P finally puts down his paper and fixes me with his searing gaze. I've seen his shaking interns sweat just from that one look. "So what are you planning to do while you're here? Meeting up old friends and such?"

Always dangerous talking to Dad P. Unlike Pa J's slow-as-molasses speech, Dad P speaks in sharp, rapid staccato pistolshots.

Pleasant enough opening but I knew enough to be wary. Though he can be a laugh a minute, I find he's forever taking down details and analyzing, possibly entering data into profiling. Gleaning facts just from an inflection of speech. As a kid, I was sure that he'd been indoctrinated in a secret Gestapo training camp.

Of course he also taught me to keep a poker face in the face of ruthless interrogation. Praying that I'd be able to pull it off as smoothly as he did, I rambled out a reply. "Not really, dad. I have a writing project to finish before the semester starts again."

That received a spark of interest. "Good, how about I land you a hand in the project? I've got a few days off."

"Uh."

Sensing my hesitance, Dad P smiled wickedly. "Nathaniel?"

Shit. I'd been caught in a lie.




From the diary of Nate, Summer 2029.

A Guy's Guy

See, I'm not really your regular guy's guy. The hail-fellow-well-met bloke with a brash, roguish quip for his mates at the bar before loudly buying them all a round of drinks. Obvious enough from what I've written here before that I'm far from that Shakespearean ideal. Swear I wouldn't even know what to say to such a testosterone-y fella.

Guy : Whoa. Would you look at that car? Hear how that gazillion horse power engine purrs? I bet that baby can really fly.
Paul : Umm... it has four nice wheels?

Sorry. What can I say? My mind wanders when it comes to automobiles. Never could quite see the beauty in chrome, metal and rubber. But gimme a well-built guy and then you'll have me talking a mile. Trust me, I can spot a cute guy 100 metres away.

Or even that perfect window display. Or the perfect souffle.

I know. I can be so gay. So I get worried about the future. What if by some ungodly miracle I actually adopt a son? Would I be able to provide a positive male influence for the child?

Wouldn't want to be totally gender-discriminatory in my teachings - but what if my hypothetical child Nate somehow intentionally gravitates towards the rough and tumble world of sports? Or even - God forbid! - the great outdoors? Seriously. All I know about football is that two teams with guys in shorts fool around with a ball. I can't even recall the number of players.

And if not knowing the facts isn't bad enough, I'm lousy at the game as well. Don't even talk to me about hiking and camping.

Fortunately the world ( and Britney Spears! ) has come up with a viable solution for me.

A male nanny - or manny. Thank God for that Charles in Charge twist. Quite clear from their sporty outdoorsy credentials that these twenty-something mannies are geared toward households with rough-n-ready boys - or perhaps tomboyish girls. Not only do these young buff guys come qualified with relevant child-rearing degrees, they can also come up with wonderful home-cooked meals and fix stuff around the house. They even have a fast appointment interview ( equivalent to a speed dating service ) to hire these outgoing fellas.


Manny reporting for duty!
A hot young Manny Poppins at home to babysit my son and do a lil bit of housekeeping? Just the perfect solution for me, don't you think?

Paul : How was Nate this evening?
Manny : He was great, sir. Did his homework, then we went for a boat ride down the river before shooting some hoops afterward. Nate even helped me make dinner tonight.
Paul : Whoa. Certainly a productive day. The lasagna was great by the way.
Manny : Thank you, sir. Even took the liberty to repair the kitchen door this morning.
Paul : You're certainly a great help. I take it from the relative silence that Nate has gone to bed?
Manny : Yeah, he was tuckered out after our basketball game.
Paul : That's great, Manny. Now ... let's say you teach me how to play ball instead?
Manny : Uhh... sir, that's not the ball.
Paul : Deep breaths. Relax. You don't even have to call me sir.

Okay.

Oops, I did it again. So there might be some lil kinks to iron out. :)

Homo Panic

Talk of babies scare straight men away.

Well, at least the eligible bachelors. Quite obvious the reasons behind it - unwanted pregnancies, shotgun weddings and such prickly issues that would drive fear into the hearts of the insanely commitment-phobic.

Never occurred to me that gay men would feel the same way though. After all, unless we actively seek out alternative baby-making methods, such a question would never arise. Short of a drunken heterosexual experiment, I doubt many rabidly gay boys I know would ever have to wrestle with diapers, prams and baby formula.

Doesn't mean they can't be equally freaked by the frightening thought though.


Get that baby away!!
So you can imagine my gleeful amusement when I broached this subject with Lanky Lex who had a platonic friend teasingly approach him to be the father of her baby. Easy enough for him to squirt out some baby juice after all ( he's dropped more than a few offerings worshipping at the altar of Pavel Novotny porn star extraodinaire after all ).

Rather than laugh it off, our ultra-conservative fella seemed horrified. Gotta hand it to Lanky Lex. Sitting there trying to maintain his cool when I think he was trying his level best not to fall into screaming hysterics when I told him he could be having a baby.

No doubt if he were a cartoon character in a strip, he'd be up there desperately clutching the boughs of the highest tree refusing to come down till I'd retracted my statement. As it was, Lex actually hemmed and hawed for a while before stammering out his charmingly disjointed reply.

Lex : A-a baby! But we won't be married! I-I can't m-marry her!
Paul : So? It's only a piece of paper. You don't have to marry her anyway.
Lex : But then the baby won't have a father!
Paul : That's the marriage cert not the birth certificate. Being unmarried doesn't make you any less of a father.
Lex : B-but the legal ramifications! The religious implications! The effects on my social life! What would people think? What would my parents say?
Paul : It's a grandchild. Your parents would be displeased with the illegitimacy but trust me, they'd grow to dote on the child anyway.
Lex : But I'm not ready!

Obviously the crux of the matter.

Okay. Maybe a rabid atheist like him wouldn't say religious implications. Rare to see him so discomfited with his ears turning pink though. Cute.

Despite the fact that I am already harbouring wistful daydreams about having a babe of my own, I guess not everyone's in the same boat :) Hell, evidently Lanky Lex isn't even in the same channel! Just have to whisper the word baby boom in Lex's ear to have him jump a mile into the air.

Blair Bitch Project

My parents encouraged me to speak my mind even as a kid but for years, I somehow lacked the self-confidence. Took me a while, I'll admit before I dared even utter a single word of disparagement when it came to authority. Certainly not the Asian way to question our elders.

These days, I can't seem to shut up.

Seems like innate bashfulness is an inherited trait in my family since my poor niece seems to suffer from the same. Though Chatty Carmen might be a roaring tiger at home living without fear of reprisals, she seems a far different sort out of doors - fading before my eyes into a timid, bashful wallflower who clings to her mama's hand.

Very surprising. Yet one of the reasons why her mother's afraid of letting her enroll in an all-girls school.


We're not mean! We're really nice girls!
Not sure if my sister-in-law is speaking from bitter experience of course but supposedly an all-girls school is far too exacting and hostile an environment for a fragile blossom like Chatty Carmen - who'd be presumably crushed to a pulp by the prickly elitist roses. Though I know from hearsay that convents aren't exactly friendly to quirky outsiders - after all, witness the mean girls in Constance Billard - I've always thought that an all-girls produced better graduates.

Don't take my word for it. May be hopelessly biased though since most of the girls I know are the products of all-girl convents from Lissome Lorelei to Shameless Shalom. Even my fiercely independent mother - and my grandma come to think of it. Wouldn't even think twice about sending my hypothetical daughter to a single-sex institution of learning.


Wait! Did you hear that? There's a catfight going on next door!
Never had all that much problems in an all-boys as well - despite the fact that Shalom insists it's a fertile breeding ground for homosexuals. I contend that it's made us far more confident individuals willing to step out in the light.

But what about the innate all-girl backbiting / bitching that we hear so much about? Won't deny that it could be detrimental to a young girl's fragile adolescent psyche to be exposed to the malicious taunts of the mean girl crowd but ... hell, I'd have to prepare my daughter for all that if I ever had one ( though I still prefer the relatively less complex boy-child ). I'm sure my gal Blair - coincidentally - would be able to cope just fine.

Calvin : Whoa. Where is Blair going?
Paul : Like it? Ordered it specially from Paris - note the detailed stitching.
Calvin : Are you crazy? Do you know how much it costs! It's only her school uniform!
Paul : Please. It's her designer battle armour for her social campaign to win over the A-list convent girls. Don't forget her chi chi beribboned Adrien Vincente hairband. Very prep girl chic.
Calvin : OMG. What kind of values are you teaching her?
Paul : Dress like a handmaiden and expect to be treated like one?
Calvin : What is she reading? Is she prepping for her exams?
Paul : Nope. Just some sharp ripostes to be used during close encounters with the junior high bitches. I added some diabolical contingency plans as well.
Calvin : My God. Where is she going?
Paul : To school?

Come on, designer schoolwear, slick hairbands and the handbook of snarky one-liners compiled by yours truly? I guarantee Queen Bee status at least in six months.

Can you tell I'll be one of those crazy over-achiever parents? Poor Blair's gonna be under so much pressure. See what I mean by saying that a boy is far less complicated?

Baby Debate

Horrified by my ( occasional ) talk of parenting these days, my ISO has decided to put a stop to things by ordering me to write a detailed pros and cons list. it's something we've always done - and possibly the same advice I've doled out to dozens of friends as well. Somehow writing something down makes me realize what I've actually wanted all along. Really very subconscious and pseudo-Freudian.

Anyway my ISO - our self-appointed homosexual saviour - is crazily determined to liberate me from a lifetime of boring suburban gay fatherhood with beige interiors, picket fences and 2.5 kids.

My ISO : You're subscribing to the old-fashioned notion that life isn't perfect without hearth and home! With two and a half kids and a 101 dalmations.
Paul : Well I never said that. I just said it's perfect for me.
My ISO : What kinda fuckin lifestyle Oprah mag have you been reading? Throw it back.

So we started listing them down.


No more sugar for you tonight, young man.
Of course he had plenty of ideas for the cons but certainly no help for the pros. Coming from a broken family, sometimes it's easy enough to see why my ISO hasn't cottoned much to the idea of a family and commitment.

Pros
Spreading the love - a kid I could share my love with ( gosh, I have been watching too much Oprah! )
Someone I could play dress up with :P
An heir to the family name ( how conservative patriachal Confucian am I? ) to continue our traditions

Cons
Zero sex life
Minimal social life - unless we can hire sitters, we can definitely forget about movies and dinners for sure
Increased expenditure for diapers / milk / clothes
A sudden need for antihypertensives / antidepressants - you know babies drive adults crazy sometimes right?

Sure the cons remain - certainly far more than the pros - but I can't deny that I'm still very much in favour of the former. Ah, what a hopeful dreamer I can be.
Fine. It does look bad. I need more points. Especially since I couldn't find anything else on the pro list ( anyone could help me with that? ).

So maybe it's time to look for a Juno MacGuff. Surely she'd consider giving her baby to me. Sure I might not be the hip interior designer / music composer she'd wanted but I do want to be a father - no matter how awfully domineering I might be. No doubt I'll stumble a few times but I'll work on it.

Anyone know of a savvy, sharp-tongued unwed teenage mother? Surely with the ongoing decline of moral values in society - as touted by the hysterical religious conservatives, we should have quite a number out there. So don't go around leaving your newborns in filthy dumpsters, bring it over to my place and I'll give them a home!


BTW as a Catholic ( though lapsed ) with archaic notions, you should already where I stand on abortion.

Not Under My Roof

I've resigned myself to the fact that I'll never be that cool dad.

Although I received considerable latitude as a teenager, I don't know if I'd be able to provide similar treatment - if I ever had kids. You'd probably think that I had the most horrible draconian monsters as parents when in reality, it was just the opposite! Strict though they were in certain matters ( our grades for one ), my surprisingly liberal New Age-y parents actually allowed my brother and I quite a shocking degree of license.

Honestly, I never even had a curfew. Like never ever. Well, not theoretically speaking since my parents never spelled it out formally in any verbal agreement. No doubt they knew that deep inside we'd feel horrible guilt pangs all over knowing that they'd predictably stay up late with the porch light on waiting for our return.

So how could we possibly party away all night knowing?

As the Catholics would know, guilt always works. I never said my parents were dumb.


OBEY ME!
I'm your king dictator potentate father!
But somehow, I always imagined that I'd keep a tighter rein. Yes, the ultimate control bitch. Somehow relying solely on their judgement seems a bit risky. No doubt after watching so many unfortunate tweenagers stumble and fall on their way to adulthood ( dozens of tragic casualties to be found in the inner city hospitals ), I find myself far more wary about the dangers. Far too many slipping into coke-dependent, sexually-promiscuous slacker mode without the proper guidance.

Hopefully by then of course I'll have a more reasonable, sensible partner to balance out my crazed Machiavellian tough-love parenting policies.

Paul : Where are you going at this hour of the night, Calvin? Getting pretty late.
Calvin : Umm... I am going to buy some groceries?
Paul : After midnight? Some fire-sale?
Calvin : Yes, I really need to get some... plaster. For my aching back.
Paul : Interesting. I thought I already had some in the medicine cabinet. Surely you mean you're going out to bail our son from the drunken orgy I expressly forbade him to go? The one which already broke our curfew set at 2?
Calvin : Ummm... seems like the police raided the club he was at.
Paul : Yes, someone tipped them off. Seemed there was a rumour that someone was ingesting K.
Calvin : OMG. You called the police?
Paul : Did I say anything wildly incriminating like that? Well it would be easy enough to track Nate with the GPS I planted on his coat.


You had your son imprisoned in the Tower? Are you crazy?
Heinous. I know. What a monstrous parent I'd be. Papa jahat. Obviously my poor son - this yet unborn Nate - would be living under the merciless boot-heel of paternal tyranny. Complete with an entire detailed constitution of laws and statutes ( and by-laws! ) governing his actions.

Then again, it's my son. So don't worry about Nate. If he was any son of mine, he'd be smart enough to know how to bend, twist and manipulate the rules to an inch without actually breaking them - probably already scheming a planned escape route out of the house ( with places of hiding in every nook and cranny ) while cooking up a thousand plausible ruses to use on gullible daddy Calvin who won't know any better.

So obviously I have to be doubly quick.