Ask Fiona Landers #2

Antares

Maureen Flannigan & Donna Pescow crushing an Out Of This World promo shoot

Dear Fiona Landers,

Like a lot of kids, my 7-year-old watches various YouTubers. He's lately been obsessed with this one young guy whose "brand" is very wholesome and family-friendly, and who plays Minecraft. As my kid has gotten deeper into the videos I notice more and more references that the guy makes to being Christian, his faith, Jesus being his savior, etc. He's not exactly preaching, but he does bring it up regularly. I'm an atheist, and my husband is Jewish (though basically also an atheist). I was raised in a southern/Christian atmosphere and I start to bristle when I get an evangelical vibe from people, which is the vibe I get from this guy. I have also heard him make jokes that I would describe as vaguely "gay panic" as well as "ball-and-chain" type jokes about his wife, both of which I dislike.

I looked the guy up, and it turns out he lives in the same southern state where I'm from, which is also one of the states that is now banning abortion rights and trying to basically ban trans kids out of existence. Much of that push is coming from Christian conservatives. So the other night while my kid was watching this guy on YouTube, I got annoyed and told my kid that while I don't know what this particular YouTuber thinks, *some* Christians think that LGBTQ people shouldn't be allowed to get married, have kids, or even be LGBTQ, and some of them also think that he, I, and his dad will all be going to hell. I could tell that I was clearly shitting on my kid's parade when he just wants to watch this YouTube guy play Minecraft. What do I do here? Just let my kid watch these dumb videos in peace? Keep shitting on his parade? Something else? Help!

Signed, 

YouTuber Don't Preach!

Dear YouTuber Don’t Preach!,

I’m not a parent. When non-parents give parenting advice, most parents justifiably report the non-parent for fraudulent charges. Since the stolen credit card is metaphoric, they’re required to scream their complaint into a decorative bowl in the pillaged housewares aisle of a nearly shuttered TJ Maxx.

“Hi, I’d like to report fraudulent charges from an entitled, clueless idiot. You know what, bowl? They should take that donkey ride down into the Grand Canyon. They should try to fit everything they’ve ever loved into one backpack, put the backpack on a twig, and hold it over the Grand Canyon and the donkey should be blind. Yes bowl, loving your child does turn you into a scorpion. Your heart is now on the outside of your body. Perfect look for TJ Maxx, but the outside heart is throwing moldy raspberries and feces at your exposed skull—and this is when the kid is an adorable, lumpy ass baby! This is before they’re watching… wait what are they watching, what is this? Whatever happened to Out Of This World and covering your science book with a paper bag and hearing the ice cream truck from the deep end and sprinting down the sidewalk barefoot, in a giant, soaked, Alf t-shirt with slippery dimes in your palm? Why is the driver of this ice cream truck a Minecrafters For Jesus Youtuber?”

The only thing I know about Minecraft is the virtual landscape has a putrid green hue, and looking at it fills me with not existential dread, but existential defeat, because it brutally confirms how I know I will die: being strangled by a robot who was supposed to help me open jars.

What I’m saying is, I’m not qualified to answer this query—but I am an annoyingly dedicated aunt, and my Minecraft guy is Paw Patrol. My five-year-old nephew loves Paw Patrol. If you’re unfamiliar with this cartoon, it’s conservative authoritarianism but with puppies. My nephew is the joy of my life but sometimes I look at him and think, “I can’t believe I’d lie down in traffic for this narc.”

I shit on my nephew’s Paw Patrol parade, but I’m trying not to rip it to shreds, because I don’t want to create a machine he feels he has to rage against. We must not turn Paw Patrol and Minecraft apostle into forbidden fruit, because as we both know, forbidden fruit is fucking delicious.

My mom’s approach is to not push against it at all. She uses an example from my childhood to support her method. When I was nine, I came home from school and told my mom about my current obsession: Nine Inch Nails. Tortured darling and hvac heir, Trent Reznor, had recently released his aggro-nihilistic, industrial rock opus, The Downward Spiral, after casually subletting the Manson Murder House. He literally recorded this album at 10050 Cielo Drive. See what happened was, I had a friend whose older sister was the coolest teenager I’d ever witnessed. She not only had the Pulp Fiction poster tacked up on the wall above her brass trundle bed, she had the Pulp Fiction haircut. I know.

I’d stand in her bedroom doorway, enthralled by her magnetic disdain and abrasive femininity. Sprawled on the trundle bed, swaying her worn-in docs in the air, applying plum lipstick, listening to music she decided didn’t suck. Congrats, Trent, you made it. She was a Hungarian-American grunge goddess and I was fully committed to becoming her. I begged my mom and she got me the cd. I played the single, Closer, for her like, “This is who I am now.” Trent says this song is about self loathing and obsession, but the chorus is undeniably the national anthem of funky, primal, escapist fucking. My mom was shaken but played it so cool. She was like, “Wow! Pretty nifty tune there!”

The following week I came home and told my mom I had a new obsession. She braced herself. It was Winnie the Pooh! I was now super into Winnie the Pooh! She was relieved and I had a Winnie the Pooh birthday cake instead of a Fuck You Like An Animal cake that year. But in hindsight, was Winnie the Pooh a better influence on me? Or did Winnie just turn me into a pantsless, codependent, honey addict who can’t spell? Only time will tell. Oh wait oops, time told. I’m an adult now and let’s just say the rust-red crop top fits.

I can’t do my mom’s total non-resistance approach and I doubt this Minecraft triscuit has enough charisma to warrant a forbidden kind of longing anyway, but still, taking the hype out of him will give him less power. When misogyny and police union propaganda make their Paw Patrol cameos, I say something, but I try to center the value I care about instead of centering my hatred for those institutions. I fail at this often. It’s hard and like I said I’m not a parent, I’m not in the trenches full time, am I? I understand if you’re choosing your battles because you don’t want to be a total drag all the time and not everything should be this epic lesson. But I’m with you, I don’t want kids being fed harmful messaging masquerading as virtuous fun.

Your bristling is valid. It means you care about something. I learned that from Tara Brach (she’s incredible). In one of her talks on anger, she quotes Ruth King (also incredible), “Anger is initiatory, but it’s not transformative.” Your anger is intelligent. It’s alerting you to your care for the safety of trans kids (and many other vulnerable, marginalized groups, and our burning planet). It’s crucial to show up and fiercely protect them. The transformation will come from our care.

I can tell you’re a compassionate person and a synth-pop influenced parent and we really need you for the long haul. So we need you to be cool, honey bunny. We’re all in the Pulp Fiction diner scene, except it’s not Tim Roth holding the gun, it’s Mr. Rogers, and he’s screaming “look for the helpers!” That’s where we’re at right now. It’s okay for all advice to feel like Mr. Rogers has a gun.

The next time the Minecraft preacher preaches, give your bristling the Out Of This World sacred pause. Press your two pointer fingers together and freeze time like you are God. Like you’re the daughter of an alien with Burt Reynolds’ voice. Slow it all down. Breathe fire until it cools. Get to your care. Center who and what you care about. The more you communicate with your kid from a real place of presence and compassion, maybe I’m wrong, but that’s what I believe has the best chance of landing. The more you model that care for your son, imperfectly of course, but the more you live your life from your raging care? I mean, the Minecraft guy withers like the insecure blip that he is. All the hack, ball-and-chain, and gay panic jokes fall as flat as the earth appears to the saucer eyes of men in tin foil sailor hats.

Don’t ever forget you are a direct descendant of the fictional planet, Antereus (where Burt Reynolds is hanging out and does not wish to be credited). Antereus is a writers room planet, but Antares the star is real. Antares is the brightest star in the constellation Scorpius. It burns red, like your ferocious love. The love that eclipses all falsely wholesome forces. In multiple languages, the name of this star translates to: heart of the scorpion.

xo

Fiona Landers