The  Unwashed Advocate and parent of a pathetic sharp cheddar, Eric Mayer, reveals his shame and humiliation at watching his “spawn” in the school cafeteria in a love story between cheese and rat.

I’d like to say that the story warmed my heart and made me a better person, but I can’t. In fact, I barely noticed the gist of the story. Why? I was preoccupied with the fact that my child–my offspring–my pride and joy–watched his dreams of future success and renown shatter into a million pieces upon the stage in the elementary cafeteria.

To my horror, I saw that he had been relegated to the role of “Sharp Cheddar.”

Just typing the words causes tears to well in my eyes. The heartbreak I feel is something no parent should ever suffer.

The pain of parenthood cannot be overstated.  The responsibility is overwhelming, while the world around us dictates the failure of our off-spring’s self-esteem. Nothing is more important in parenting than guaranteeing that our children enjoy unwarranted self-esteem. Nothing is more important in parenting than assuring their every desire be fulfilled.  Nothing is more important in parenting than having someone else to blame.

Too many “nothing is more important”?  Then you, sir, are no parent.

As I slowly exit the parking lot, I see them all gathered happily near Tucker’s parent’s minivan. When they see me driving away, their smiles fade, replaced by knowing glances to one-another.

My mood turns to anger on the drive.

I won’t’ accept blame for this one. It’s the teacher. The music teacher! She is to blame. She has her favorites. Her little pet Brandon, always getting the perks. I must blame her.

In Brooklyn, New York, the only thing greater than pride in their use of the King’s English is their skill at raising children.

This weekend’s New York Post features an almost-too-perfect story about how Brooklyn parents would prefer not to do their own parenting:

They’re all screaming for no ice cream.

Overprotective Park Slope parents have declared war on a treasured rite of spring: an ice cream in the park.

[One] angry mother, identified on the site as Dorothy Scanlan, chimed in.

“I should not have to fight with my children every warm day on the playground just so someone can make a living!” the poster wailed. “I too was at the 9th Street Playground on Monday, and one of the vendors just handed my 4-year-old an ice cream cone. I was furious.”

The Post piece leave the “there oughta be a law!” message unspoken, other than a passing reference to a “ban,” whose nature is otherwise unspecified.

Ironically, just the other day I felt a yearning for a strawberry shortcake Good Humor bar as I was driving up the New Jersey Thruway from College Park, Maryland (where the cheesy scent of sweat permeated the Cherry Blossom Open) toward Brooklyn. There was no ice cream man to be found, crushing my spirit.

Not every parent’s hopes and dreams rise and fall with the smile on their child’s face, but I would hope it’s true for most of us.  We want our spawn to be the star of the play, to walk offstage to thunderous applause and admiring stares from other jealous parents.  But it can’t happen.  It’s not just that Brandon is the music teacher’s pet, but that if it wasn’t Brandon, it would be Justin. It would be someone, and that someone isn’t always going to be ours.

That means that the lot falls to the parent to suffer the indignity of having to explain why somebody had to be sharp cheddar.  It’s brutal.  It’s far easier to pin blame on the music teacher and her pet Brandon than suggest that maybe our darling baby isn’t the absolute tippy-top best at everything he touches. To do otherwise would be to damage his self-esteem, which could result in his gunning down a post office full of people if he failed to win his party’s nomination for President of the United States.

Other times, it means saying the one word that no parent ever wants to utter. No.  If you don’t want junior to have an ice cream (which, as  futurist Woody Allen suggests, will eventually be proven to be the most significant foodstuff to enhance longevity available), fine. Deprive your child of one of the great joys of summer, if that’s what you want to do. 

But it violates the code of parenting to be the meanie who says “no,” which will make your child hate you, require therapy for the rest of his natural life and end up as sharp cheddar.  And you will cry.

Yes, it’s very difficult to be a parent these days. Fortunately, there are plenty of people to blame. There are always plenty of people to blame.