JOE QUEENAN’S KIDS AND YOUR KIDS

Parents need a hobby to share with their millennial kids before they move out? Start tuba practice.

When it comes to helping millennials move out on their own, ask Joe Queenan how it’s done.

He writes in the Wall Street Journal:

“A large part of the problem is that young adults (millennials are 18 to 31 years old) don’t hate their parents the way baby boomers hated theirs; a lot of us couldn’t wait to get out of our own parents’ houses.”

Hate is a hard word, especially when pointed toward parents.

Is it important to hate your parents first, then move?

Or is it hate for what parents do?

Joe Queenan blames the music from the Greatest Generation for driving baby boomers out of the nest early.

Boomerpdx understands, and adds more to the music pile.

Did your parents buy a Scandinavian blonde combo music cabinet with a lift top over the turn table?

Ours came with a separate matching speaker cabinet with one side reserved for album storage.

(Never put the record storage unit near a wall heater. If you do, and all the records warp, don’t bake them in the oven to flatten them again.)

Before that disaster the house was often filled with Andy Williams, Mitch Miller, and Ferrante and Teicher.

How many times can you hear Jimmie Rodgers sing Kisses Sweeter Than Wine and Honeycomb then see your parents kiss and laugh?

No one ever said, “Get a room,” but…

Mr. Queenan says baby boomers need to inflict our music on our kids to dial up parental hatred. How’s that supposed to work when Classic Rock radio stations prove new music sucks?

When your kid plays Jimi’s Manic Depression out of a Marshall half stack, do you really want them to leave?

If you need help with a push out the door, you’ll need one of two music eras, or both.

Start with the second British Invasion. These are the bands who showed up in matching suits like the Beatles first wore before slipping into their hippie style.

Herman’s Hermits and the Dave Clark Five stand out. Break out the skinny tie and stacked heels.

Once that wears out, move on to Tom Jones. Roll your socks into the tightest pants you own, unbutton a nylon shirt halfway down, and slip on a gold chain.

For extra effect ask you wife to throw a pair of shorts at you every time you bump and grind to What’s New Pussycat.

Do you hear the bags packing themselves? If not, it’s time to go Deadheadin’. Find the worst Grateful Dead concert bootleg recordings and crank it up.

Let the twirling begin. You’ve seen the solo dancer with boundless energy flinging around and around? The closer you get, the more you smell a land-fill?

Stop bathing and using deodorant. Don’t shave or cut your hair. Buy old sandals and say things like, “These are just like Jerry’s, man, and I’m walking in his footsteps.”

Take it right to the point where you let the kids see you eat a plain sugar cube before more twirling. They will ask why.

That’s a door opener in more ways than one.

Joe Queenan needs his kids to move out? Start playing Hey Joe and sing along with, “Hey Joe, where you goin’ with that gun in your hand?”

Tell the kids it’s autobiographical, but you’re much better now.

Then play more tuba.