Sometimes I feel guilty about inadvertently turning my children into culture snobs.
The only Disney they really like anymore is Miyazake releases. They are appalled by the Jonas Brothers, Justin Bieber, Miley Cirus, etc. (How Taylor Swift got a pass is not clear.) Zappa and Bowie are among their cultural touchstones. Violet came home from Chinese immersion camp and quickly immersed herself in the artsy-fartsy version of the Odyssey I brought home, and she loudly scorns Twilight. (Though she is now obsessed with Maximum Ride.)
Sometimes I think we fulfill so many of the creative class stereotypes that we approach self-parody.
But here is the thing. The thing is, I don’t like that crap either. I’d rather listen to my 7yo singing “Starman” than “Party in the U.S.A.” I’d rather talk about Esperanto than Edward and Jacob with my 11yo. As if by magic, they seem to be able to sniff out crappy book-to-film adaptations and refuse to go, which means I don’t have to go either!
In the short term, at least I’m saving myself from some of the minor irritations of parenting, and since we’re the ones who have to live with the little beasties, I think we deserve at least that much.