I don’t have any children right now, nor am I exactly looking to bring any litte Panamas or Panamaishas into the world in the near future. But Godwilling, I do want kids.

In fact, I want a few kids. I grew up in a household with 3 sisters, an add-on brother, and a bunch of other folks who might as well have been family. I can’t imagine having just one child. I had way too much fun growing up with my siblings to have an only child who has to create all of his own entertainment. Though, I’m sure he could, Lord knows I did.

True Story: When I was 3, my mother bought me a Playskool My First Hiking Trip Set (or something along those lines). It came with a canteen, a compass, and a utility belt. My mother filled up my canteen with water. Showed me what the compass was and opened the door. Now my usual thing was to just walk outside and play in the grass in front our apartment. Not that day. See, my mother messed up, she ALSO told me what hiking was. So what did Peewee Panama do? He went hiking. There were some woods behind our apartment complex so I moseyed on into the woods to go, ya know, hiking. Apparently I was gone for something like 3 hours causing my father, the police, and the military installation behind our home to be called. Me? I was just out walking around in the woods and drinking the water in my canteen and ya know, hiking. According to my mother, I just strolled up out of the woods right into the house, said, “hi mommy,” then sat down and watched cartoons.

Moral of the story: Parenting can be a bitch.

Anyway, as thoughts of parenthood become more frequent as I get older, I’ve started to have one lingering concern. It is a concern unlike any other concern. I’m not worried about having gay children or anything. In today’s day and age, the more kids you have it seems the more likely that is to be the case with at least one of them. Plus, I’m okay with that.

I’m not worried about raising a black male child. I was a black male child and I came out alright and I know the conversations I’m going to need to have. Plus, I refuse to sugarcoat shit.

Nope, my concern is this: I don’t really want to be cooler than my kids.

You see, I fashion myself to be a pretty cool dude. Feel free to disagree, but also feel free to go fuck yourself.

Mmkay?

I also know that cool isn’t something you create, it’s just something you are. I assume you’re born with it. Like green eyes, only not like that at all.

When you meet people who are cool, it instantly becomes the first adjective you use when describing them. Which is interesting because cool is one of the hardest things to describe in and of itself. What does cool even mean? For real, the next time you are talking to somebody and they tell you how cool their friend is, ask them what makes them cool.

I’d be willing to put money that at some point they end up saying this: “I don’t know, she/he’s just…cool.”

Being as this will be my child, I will assume that he will be going through many phases on his way to discovering his cool. If my child is anything like me, he’ll go through his nerd phase, his awkward phase, etc. The normal things that black children that can read go through.

Yes bitches, my child will be one of the reading black people. But on his way into adolescence I hope he discovers his cool. His ability to just be himself regardless of what else is going on around him. Of course, if that cool involves him wearing all black and lots of metal studs and shit, well…we’re gonna have a talk.

Until I realize that it’s probably my fault for playing so much Led Zeppelin around the house.

Back to the cool. You know, growing up can be very hard. We spend so much time trying to figure out where we fit in with our friends and just the world period that it can take a while to figure out who you really are. With that in mind, I’m looking forward to seeing my children go through all of the phases. But what happens if, and when, my child discovers his inner self and its…

..Urkel.

And all of his friends have pocket protectors and their conversations linger on the newest mechanical pencil and its aerodynamic capabilities.

I mean, I’ll love him just the same. But you better believe I’ll be throwing a football at him all the time. And if he can’t catch, that’s just too bad for him. He’ll figure it out over time. He can cry to his momma all he wants. But…and it’s a simple but…

…what if that’s just how he’s comfortable. Mind you, I’ll be accepting, but I’ll want him to branch out. I suppose I’m more worried about my kids being complete introverts than I am being overly cool. Despite saying that I’m a cool cat and shit, I tend to think I’m more funny than cool. I don’t know how many people would use cool as the first adjective to describe me.

Of course, sexxy would be first.

*ba-dum-ching*

I’m just concerned with the social malaise that could occur if my kid turns into the uber-uncool versoin of Urkel. Because despite what you think, I really do think Urkel was a pretty cool dude. He did his thing, was open and honest and all that. He was alright with me.

Granted, I don’t have any kids yet so this is all moot. And I will love my kids regardless and truthfully, it might be kind of fun to have a really nerdly kid with the taped up glasses. Not sure how that would happen given that any woman I procreate with is gonna be cool as a fan too, but it could happen. Plus, kids like that just have to increase the entertainment value in the house right??

And besides, we all remember Steve Urkel had Stephon in him. So maybe all I have to do is harness the inner cool.

And try not to make my son a ho.

To be a parent…