rad dad -- a zine about parenting

News!

2012-01-12T10:56:00.000-08:00

I'm on the road wrapping up an amazing tour of California with my co-editor Jeremy Adam Smith as well as a number of amazing mamas and papas who have come out to read and/or support each event!

I want to share with you all the news that Rad Dad has sold out of its first edition and is going to its second printing! Thank you!

The latest issue of the zine, Rad Dad 21: Occupy, is out now and has powerful stories about the occupy movements and kids as well as other personal pieces on parenting!

Finally, there is a new call for submissions for the next issue of Rad Dad, which is gonna focus on mistakes we have made (Bad Dad?) as well as the legacy of the Riot Grrl movement 20 years on...

We would like to have a number of events come Spring tentatively entitled Outta the Bookstores, Into the Parks and Streets. If you have suggestions on places to read where parents congregate, share it with us.

Stay in touch and stay strong,

We got each others' backs!

Tomas c/s

Out Tomorrow!

2011-12-09T13:11:00.001-08:00

I will be at the East Bay Alternative Press Book Fair with the brand new Rad Dad: The Occupy Issue!

Dec 10th from 10 - 4 at Berkeley City College!

Announcements fro the Fall and Winter

2011-10-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

The new issue of the zine is due in December with stories from the Occupy Movement as well as good ol’ pieces on trying to parent in meaningful, conscientious ways...

Here are a couple good reviews of the book, which came out in September! Review 1, Review 2, Review 3.

And finally here is a list of the next few readings through the New Year. All information is also available on Facebook.

Please come out, say hi, stay in touch, and spread the word…

Rock, Paper, Scissors

2278 Telegraph Ave

Oakland

Saturday, November 5, 2011

7:00 pm

Readers: Tomas Moniz, Jeremy Adam Smith, Jeff Conant, Shawn Taylor, Craig Elliott

Russo's Books at The Marketplace

9000 Ming Ave # I4

Bakersfield

Thursday, November 10th, 2011

6:30 pm

Skylight Books

1818 N Vermont Ave (between Hollywood Blvd & Franklin)

Los Angeles, CA 90027

Nov 12

5 pm

Green Arcade

680 Market Street @Gough
San Francisco CA 94102

December 1^st

7 pm

Pegasus Downtown Berkeley

Rad Parents Read Their Favorite Kids Books

December 5^th

5 pm

We will have a at table at the East Bay Alternative Press Book Fair on December 10^th

Berkeley City College

SubRosa

703 Pacific Avenue
Santa Cruz, CA

January 8^th

5 pm

Linnaea's Café

1110 Garden Street
San Luis Obispo, CA 93401

January 10^th

Time TBA

Chaucer's Books
3321 State Street
Santa Barbara CA 93105

January 11^th

7pm

San Diego

January 13^th

TBA

Book Soup

8818 Sunset Blvd.

West Hollywood, CA 90069

January 14th

5pm

Joined by Jillian Lauren and Shawn Taylor

I’ll also be at the LA Zine Fest February 18^th so look for another reading...

Rad Dad Tour Dates

2011-08-15T16:07:00.001-07:00

It’s official! The Rad Dad Anthology will be out on August 1st. There will be a number of events this Fall to help celebrate the amazing and inspiring work that radical mamas and papas do day in and day out that has been the reason behind Rad Dad all these years. More events will be posted as they are confirmed.

The Avid Reader
617 2nd Street
Davis, CA
Wednesday, August 31 2011
7:30 pm
Special Guests: Tomas Moniz

San Francisco Zine Fest
San Francisco County Fair Building, in Golden Gate Park
Saturday and Sunday, September 3 & 4, 2011
All Day

Libertalia Autonomous Space
280 Broadway Room 200
Providence, RI
Friday September 16, 2011
3:30 pm
Special Guest: Tomas Moniz and Jeremy Adam Smith

Bluestockings
172 Allen Street
Manhattan, NY
Saturday, September17, 2011
7:30pm
Special Guest: Tomas Moniz, Jeremy Adam Smith, and Ayun Halliday

Brooklyn Bookfair
BROOKLYN BOROUGH HALL
209 JORALEMON STREET
Sunday, September18, 2011
All Day
Special Guest: Tomas Moniz and Jeremy Adam Smith

Woodenshoe Anarchist Collective
704 South Street
Philadelphia, PA
Monday, September 19, 2011
7:00 pm
Special Guest: Tomas Moniz and Jeremy Adam Smith

Positive Force
Washington, DC
Saturday, September 23, 2011
All Day
Special Guests: Tomas Moniz, Mark Anderson, and others

Baltimore Bookfair
600 BLOCK NORTH CHARLES STREET
Baltimore, MD
Sunday, September 24, 2011
All Day
Special Guests: Tomas Moniz

Modern Times
2919 24th St
San Francisco, CA
Thursday, September 29, 2011
7:00 pm
Readers: Tomas, Jeremy, Shawn

Reach And Teach
178 South Blvd
San Mateo, CA
Saturday, October 1, 2011
3:00 pm
Special Guest: Tomas Moniz and Jeremy Adam Smith

LitCrawl
Oddball Films, 250 Capp St
San Francisco, CA
Saturday, October 15, 2011
6:00 – 7:00
Readers: Tomas, Shawn,

Rock, Paper, Scissors
2278 Telegraph Ave
Oakland
Saturday, November 5, 2011
7:00 pm
Readers: Tomas, Jeremy

Russo's Books at The Marketplace
9000 Ming Ave # I4
Bakersfield
Thursday, November 10th, 2011
630 pm

Skylight Books
1818 N Vermont Ave (between Hollywood Blvd & Franklin)
Los Angeles, CA 90027
Nov 12
Saturday afternoon

We also have an event Jan 14th at Book Soup in LA.

Out now!

2011-07-19T15:12:00.001-07:00

You can now order "Rad Dad: Dispatches from the Frontiers of Fatherhood" for only 15 bucks! Share on your Facebook wall, tweet it, blurb it on your blog, shout it from the rooftops!

Rad Dad, The Anthology Release Celebrations

2011-07-15T09:23:00.000-07:00

Not that I timed it but...

2011-06-17T15:45:00.000-07:00

available right now from Microcosm is the latest issue of Rad Dad! Here's their review:

Hot on the heals of Rad Dad 19, we're excited to announce the release of issue 20! This issues features articles about special needs children, traditional Japanese grandparents, queer male allies, and an interview with Brian Heagney—the author, illustrator, and publisher of the kid's book, The ABCs of Anarchism. Some of this issue is learning lessons from your children—or even them teaching you lessons—and as always, Rad Dad is a forum and a source of hope that parents and children can one day be welcomed in radical spaces. This is important reading—vital stuff for parents and nonparents alike.

Coming soon!

2011-05-24T09:49:00.000-07:00

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Rad Dad 20 will be out in mid June...

and following that there will be lots of readings and mini-zine tours and lots of fun...join us, read with us, write for us...

tentative events --

July 23rd in Santa Rosa
Aug 2 - 9 mini Northwest zine tour and Portland zine fest
Aug 28 - Sept 4th Bay Area zine tour and SF zine fest
Sept 18 - 26th Brooklyn bookfair, Philly reading, Baltimore bookfair

stay in touch

A Day in the park

2011-05-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

One of the essays in the new Rad Dad Book anthology and originally published in Rad Dad 16 got picked up by the NY Times...

nice review of rad dad 18!

2011-05-10T16:59:00.000-07:00

Rad Dad (18) by Tomas Moniz

Reviewed by Amanda Kimmerly

Upon first glance at the zine Rad Dad 18, I imagined a collection dedicated to fathers across America trying to stay hip and in-tune with their children, along with the misfires that come when attempting to translate young generational slang (i.e. the famous scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, when the father quips, “Those damn Dawson’s river kids, sleeping in each other’s beds and whatnot.”).

Luckily, that’s maybe 0.2 percent of it. This small zine, run by Tomas Moniz, covers topics from parenting and child nudity to open relationships and anti-breeding anarchists. Basically, if it’s a relationship or practice outside of the “norm,” it qualifies.

While some stories, by nature, proved more interesting and mysterious, like attempting polyamory after nine years of “dry monogamy,” the entire non-fiction collection, from start to finish, kept my full attention—so much that I stupidly missed a doctor’s appointment in the vigorous process.

Even as a person without any kids, I found myself relating to every article or using it as a preparation for, perhaps, a (daunting!) future of childbearing. For those with children, or non-traditional ways of living, I imagine it could provide a sense of compassion and understanding, the way a Sci-Fi convention might comfort the kid who only wears Trekkie outfits to class. The point is: relationships are weird, messy, and ever-evolving. The storytellers in Rad Dad 18 tackle this observation by sharing their insights and frustrations in a positive, healthy light while at the same time skillfully using elements of craft as a piece of compelling short fiction.

Instead of a magazine geared toward fathers, or even parents, it is one for, as Jason Gonzales beautifully said in his story, “Earth Abides,” “warriors committed to a multi-generational movement of positive change.” In sexual relationships, parental relationships, environmental relationships, and foremost, the relationships we keep with ourselves.

New and back issues of Rad Dad are available at raddadzine.blogspot.com.

East Coast Rad Dad Tour

2011-04-21T09:37:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone: next week is a Rad Dad mini east coast reading tour starting Monday in NYC with the amazing Ayun Halliday at Bluestockings 7pm, Wednesday afternoon in Providence at Libertalia Autonomous Space at 3pm, then Thursday evening 7pm at Ada Books in Providence, and finally in Boston at Papercut Zine Library at 7pm...please spread the word and stop on by!

2011-02-27T15:12:00.000-08:00

We will have a Rad Dad Release Party on March 26th at 7pm at Actual Cafe in Oakland. Please come say hello and pick up some copies of Rad Dad (and other zines - there will be a zine table), listen to two bands with papas in them (Team Nisto and Nomi), and hear a few radical parents read!

Line Up

Team Nisto: 700-730
Readers 745-815
Nomi 830-900

mini east coast tour getting set!

2011-02-14T10:53:00.000-08:00

here's the first announcement of the tour that will happen between april 20th and april 29th...

set dates are:

NYC with ayun halliday and vikki law monday april 25th Bluestockings
Providence with chelsea gunn and more thursday april 28th at Ada Books organized by Sine Cera
Boston at friday april 29th at Papercut Zine Library

and our first write up in Providence, RI.

Tomas

Doing The Wrong Thing is Better Than Doing Nothing: The Intro to Rad Dad 19

2011-02-03T20:02:00.000-08:00

Parenting has taught me a lot about dealing with things I'd rather not deal with. I’ve been forced to breathe deeply and make the call to the doctor at three in the morning: um, my daughter won’t stop crying, and when the doctor asks why she’s crying, I’ve had to confess, well I kinda dropped her today.

That never feels good to admit to.

Or I’ve had to clench my mouth shut tightly and just let my daughter have her feelings, be disappointed, resist the urge to placate her, to try to “make” her feel better by saying something inane like, well your little ten year old friend is a
dick.

Definitely, not good parental role modeling.

I’ve also learned to deal with larger, seemingly inhuman bureaucratic systems such as the school system with all its rules and policies that punish children for their parents’ choice or responsibilities. No, I don’t think it’s fair that my seventh grader gets an F in classes because I took her on a trip to see a sick relative. I’ve learned to face a police and justice system that views children as criminals first and people second.

Parenting has shown me that both the little things and big things in life can be sometimes daunting to face. As the saying goes, shit ain’t easy. Life is messy. People, messy. Friendship is work and commitment as well as fun and pleasurable. Just like parenting.

Sometimes I do wish I could just ignore things, overlook stuff I don’t really want to face, pretend I just didn’t know. Just go on with my everyday routine.

Parenting, however, has also demonstrated that there are the choices we need to make between letting some things slide while focusing on others.

My daughter’s arriving home ten minutes late after school might be ok now and then. I can raise an eyebrow and shrug off her, what, the bus was late, exasperated remark when I ask why she’s not on time. Because when she’s out at night and forgets to call when I explicitly explained that I expected her to, that ain’t something you can let slide. It’s something you have to address, and it’s difficult to hold her to the agreed upon consequences. It’s painful to hear her anger, her frustration, to be the target of her unmitigated teenage rage. And that shit’s scary.

So parenting has taught me how to stand firm and also that some things are negotiable, that there’s a balance between holding your child accountable and creating transparency in your agreements.

Let me stop stalling.

A friend of mine was arrested for domestic violence. There’s a story there. There are reasons for his anger and even empathy around the whole situation: towards him, towards his partner. The whole affair is sad. It’s painful. In the end, perhaps it will all be for the best for both of them and their kids.

But there is no excuse for violence in a relationship.

None.

Ever.

The crisis is over. She’s moved out of their home. They have a routine set up. Things are almost back to normal. People in my circle of friends are even joking about it.

And that is what bothers me, what makes me uncomfortable.

I started to ask around: what is my role? How do I address this with my daughters? How to be a true friend?

I don’t want to be the one to constantly bring it up every time I see him, but I also don’t want a ‘business as usual’ type friendship, a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ relationship because that is so much easier: if I don’t know about it, I guess I don’t have to make any tough choices.

I remember when the Chris Brown and Rhianna incident occurred. I immediately talked to my kids about it, especially my youngest daughter who was very into both of them. I asked how they felt about hearing the news. I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip: a chance to address the unacceptability of domestic violence, to establish a clear ‘zero-tolerance’ policy. Some things can slide; physical and emotional abuse can’t.

Chris Brown was ostracized; we as a family severed ties with him and his music. And the cool thing is most of the population did as well. His musical career seems to be over.

But what to do with my friend?

Soon after all this happened, I spoke with another friend of mine, a woman, a person who had been in an abusive relationship in the past, and she gave me some advice I hold dearly now. She said when she was going through it, that she wished people would have done something, anything. She looked at me and stated: sometimes doing the wrong thing is better than doing nothing.

I understood immediately that that was why I was so uncomfortable. I could see how easy doing nothing could have been. Denial is powerful. But as parenting has taught me some things can’t slide and so sometimes you just gotta grin and bear it. You have to face it.

I want to thank my kids for making me learn this lesson.

I knew I needed to talk to him before he moved off the block, so one night when he came over to borrow something, I did.

We stood out on my stoop, and we talked. First I expressed my anger and disappointment. Then I expressed my dilemma. I told him I knew it would be work, but that I wanted to be the kind of friend who is wiling to both stand up for someone and to hold them accountable. I expressed my concerns about how he was taking responsibility for his actions.

I did however acknowledge that I had no answers, only questions. But I told him I’m willing to struggle to find those answers with him, together.

We hugged, and he left.

A few days later, I raised the subject again with my daughters and my twenty-year-old son who was visiting. We all had talked about it here and there, and I know they have heard me and their mother and other friends talking about the incident. Arguing over it. Gossiping about it. In fact, my youngest daughter and I saw the cop cars in front of their house when it happened and I said to her almost in jest, I hope that’s not what I think it is. I cringe thinking about how uncritical a statement that is in regards to domestic abuse. I feel like I should apologize to her over my seeming ambivalence.

So we were all sitting around the table, my two daughters and my son eating dinner. I didn’t have a script or a point, I just wanted to be honest with them. I confessed, I am angry that I don’t know what to do or say. I feel like a hypocrite singing that song about Chris Brown needing to get his ass kicked after what he did, and yet when it happens on my street I’m at a loss as to what I should do. Just because I’m a friend with someone doesn’t mean they’re not accountable, you know.

You know it’s not your fault dad, my youngest says, like I’m acting foolish.

Getting chastised by your kids is another thing you learn how to deal with from parenting.

I know, I said, I just don’t want to sweep this under the rug. Domestic violence whether it’s emotional or physical is never ok. No matter what.

I was looking at my two daughters like I’m telling them that they should never stand for it, when I realized my son was sitting right there. Looking at me. I looked at him.

I realized I haven’t had a conversation like this in a while, talking about sex education was one thing, talking domestic violence another.

My son shook his head up and down slowly.

I know dad, he said I know, and he looked me in the eye, that shit is totally fucked up.

And he meant it.

It was one of the most reassuring moments in my life. I realize then that what had also been bothering me was talking with my son about it. It’s strange to love this young person so much, and for years feeling like I could control his actions. Now he stands taller than me, muscular, lean, a man, and I have no control over anything anymore in his life (well except for kicking in money for his rent), and yet I still have such expectations of him. And he may let me down in the future, may make mistakes in relationships. But one thing I think he knows is that domestic abuse is a line you don’t cross.

Hearing him say that with such conviction, without equivocation in front of his sisters was a profound moment for me.

Thank you, I said.

And we all kind of went on to other things.

As the weeks pass, I bring it up with my daughters now and then. My middle child now has a boyfriend. And I see how quickly I will have no control in her life too. It’s hard to let go. But I’m gonna do it. With love and with encouragement and with trust.

They taught me that.

This issue of Rad Dad is dedicated to all those who are victims of violence: at the hands of the police, of bullies, of their own family.

I promise you I will never look the other way.

I promise you I will do something whether it’s the right thing or not at the time.

I promise. I will.

rad dad 19 is out and here's a review that proves it -- order now...

2011-01-18T17:09:00.000-08:00

Rad Dad #19
by Tom Moniz

As Rad Dad editor Tomas Moniz says in issue 19's first essay, “Parenting has taught me a lot about dealing with things I’d rather not deal with.” This is the Rad Dad “heavy topics” issue; its pages are concerned with talking to your kids about topics you might shy away from—important issues like racism, sexism, death, domestic violence, police brutality, and environmental crisis. Rad Dad is, as always, about communication, about not shutting off when your kids need help making sense of the things happening around them. And sometimes that's the hardest part—when you yourself are fighting to make sense of a changing terrain. Says Tomas in the zine's intro, “For my family, there was violence in our neighborhood as a number of young men were killed, friends of ours were assaulted in their homes, domestic violence happened in a family we were close to. Suddenly, it seemed I was just trying to keep up with things?let alone talk about them with my kids. But they were listening; they were witnesses to it all and witnesses to how we, the adults in their lives, reacted.” The psychic landscape this issue navigates can be harrowing but Rad Dad retains the loving, constructive light of positivity and forward motion it has cultivated since issue 1. This is important reading—vital stuff for parents and nonparents alike.

Rad Dad 19

2010-12-16T09:05:00.000-08:00

will be released in Mid January!

But in the meantime think about writing for Rad Dad 20:

Patti Smith being interviewed by Stephen Colbert explained that being an artist is like being a mother; there are sacrifices that must be made. Colbert without a moment’s hesitation quipped, that’s why I'm a father. I laughed, Patti Smith laughed, the audience laughed. And then I stopped.

Two points stuck out to me: as parents it’s true; we make sacrifices to be the parents we want to be, sometimes it tough, painful, sometimes we like the cliché states just have to grin and bear it.

The second point: for fathers, there has been a history of refusal, a ridgity to sacrifice, to giving up careers, hobbies, behaviors, you name it…

For the next issue of Rad Dad – Rad Dad 20 – I ask you: what are the sacrifices you make or have made? What are the ones you didn’t make, what have you given up? What have you gained? What lost?

And, of course, I’m always open to other essays, rants, collaborations, interviews…think of the above questions as starting points…deadline April 1st.

Keep it Low and Slow: from Rad Dad 18

2010-07-13T09:24:00.000-07:00

A movie script about a father, three kids, the evil media, and the perils of sex education

Voice-over: I always thought this would be easy. I humored myself with assurances that I wouldn’t handle the subject like my parents did, that I would be a beacon, a guide, dare I say, a confidant for my children.

Ah, the bullshit we tell ourselves when we’re rocking babies about how we will parent in the future. Let me tell you right off what the moral of this story will be: humility.

Scene 1: I was driving in my car with my thirteen-year-old son; I discovered a few days earlier he’s acquired some pornographic material. I know what you’re thinking. What’s the big deal about some adult magazines tucked up under a mattress. Oh, how I long for those good ol’ days. You see, if only I discovered a dirty magazine. Nooooo. Thanks to the Internet, instead I discovered 45-second clips of hard-core group sex on my computer desktop.

It’s time for The Talk, which I’ve had many times before, so this should be easy.

Hey, I found some…stuff…on my computer I think we need to talk about.

Awkward silence.

Really? What? he asked.

More awkward silence.

He continued, do we have to talk about it?

Cue cheesy music.

As I pulled over, I mumbled something like, well, if you’re gonna look at it, I guess we need to talk about it

I‘ll spare you the gory discomfort (though if you are really interested, check out Rad Dad 3) but admit that: Joking about sex with him when he was ten, was nothing like having the first real conversation with him about the seriousness and the responsibilities of sexuality.

Flashback: I was standing with my father in the garage. It’s dusk. I was about fifteen. I rarely had time with him alone anymore because he’s a busy man, he’s a silent man, but I knew he loved me, I knew he tried the best he could. He didn’t look me in the eyes. He called me out here because he caught me the other night getting down like only teenagers can in the horrifically uncomfortable backseat of my ‘76 Toyota Corolla.

So now was my The Talk.

Listen, he told me, and waited, the pause pregnant with anticipation.

He said, keep your willy in your pants. I’m serious. Then he walked away.

And I’m serious; that’s what he said, the extent of our birds and bees conversation.

Of course, soon his advice became my way of joking with my girlfriend about getting it on, it’s time to release the willy; it was funny until at the age of eighteen she becomes pregnant.

Non-sequitor Flash Forward: The horror and accompanying popcorn gag as my son and I were getting ready to watch Aladdin (don’t ask why my son was invited to a three year old’s birthday party at a movie theater) when I witness for the first time the preview for the movie Free Willy.

Scene 2: After having a difficult discussion about drug use with my fourteen year old daughter, I jokingly asked her, well anything else we should talk about, like are you having sex?

Now, of course, I joked with her too from around age four about sex, but once again not really prepared for her response.

No, dad, I mean I‘ve made out with a few hot boys that’s all.

I stared blankly at her.

And, once again, in a moment that highlights the generational differences between my teenage years when you had to have a girl/boyfriend to free willy, today’s young people are more empowered to be sexually active without having to have a significant other; the wisdom is shocking.

I stuttered something like, I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend…

I don’t.

Oh?

Picking up on my mental conundrum, she explained, there are boys you want to be your boyfriend and then there are hot boys you just wanna kiss.

Still stuck somewhere in the1950s, I asked, but don’t you want your boyfriend to be hot?

Yes, but sometimes you just want to kiss a hot boy. Can you leave my room now?

Voice-over: The third time really is the charm. I understand that now. From the sheer horror at the need to talk with my son about masturbation and pornography, to the disorientation of generational changes with my middle child, to finally the self-reflection, the epiphany of oh I’ve been here before with my youngest. Now some people may not need three children to see the light; unfortunately, I did. Of course, my cynicism almost makes me blow it again. And here’s where I blame the evil media. I hate all this faux female bisexuality (it’s almost never male) that has became a pop culture trend; it’s all over YouTube videos, hip-hop songs, and Facebook groups, but then again who am I to judge or question Lady Gaga’s sexual dalliances.

Scene 3: When my youngest daughter informed me that she’s joining the Gay Straight Alliance at her middle school, I almost missed it. When I was twelve, I was still playing with tractors and thought my willy was indeed a whale.

Uh huh, I mumbled while trying to decide what the hell to make for dinner for two daughters who never want the same thing.

But after a second, her words reached me. I remembered my father, the dark garage, the silences. I stopped what I was doing, and I looked at her. I told her how proud I am of her. I asked her questions, and I just listened.

And a few weeks later, I listened again as she shared with me her frustration that even people who are members of the alliance use the word gay derogatorily.

And later still, I apologized to her when she overheard me joking with a neighbor about a friend of ours who is a self-proclaimed fag hag. I saw her face; I knew immediately she only heard me saying the word fag.

Scene 4: We are watching the movie La Mission; it’s three teenage girls and me. At first they wanted to see Hot Tub Time Machine. To be honest, I did as well, but I knew that it’s not often we get to see movies that bring up issues critically. It’s true though that even bad movies are opportunities to discuss the way things are fucked up: sexual violence, gender rigidity, racism; but tonight I wanted to go the high road. We’re in the dark, and it’s the scene in which the father is refusing to listen, to know about, to acknowledge his gay son’s desires. It’s the familial version of don’t ask, don’t tell. We’re in the dark, and my daughter reached to grab my hand; she leaned into me and said, I can’t believe there are still people like him.

It’s then that I am thankful for the privilege of being a part of communities in which the homophobia I remember as a teenager seems surreal, seems like Hollywood exaggeration to my teenage daughters.

Voice-over: I rented The Life and Times of Harvey Milk and planned on watching it with my kids, but now they’re busy, now they have so many other things to do that they just wanted to watch the funny parts. Funny, you might ask. They simply loved the scenes of street life in the Castro. They commented on the clothes, the hair-dos, laughed at the Castro street parade footage, the dancing. But as the story shifted to the spontaneous memorial that moved down Market Street after Harvey Milk was killed, they watched silently; I saw their sadness, felt their disbelief. They soon left and returned to their rooms. I didn’t have to say anything. They knew.

And when I tell them about the event I’ll be reading at a few weeks later to celebrate the city’s first annual Harvey Milk Day, they smiled and one added, that’s cool, but just don’t embarrass me, ok.

So it’s come to this. Even though I don’t have to explain things anymore and even though I am so clearly the last person they want to confide in about anything sexual, I still ask questions. And they still hate it.

I still ask if they are having drugs and doing sex. They just roll their eyes and look utterly offended. My mantra now to them is low and slow; I’ve stolen the line from La Mission. I tell them in my best vato accent to have fun but keep it low and slow.

I think it’s better than telling them about willies and freedom.

We Remember! On the Eve of The Oscar Grant Verdict

2010-07-05T15:51:00.000-07:00

It was an accident that I hopped on the wrong train heading back to the East Bay lost as I was in the gallery of Sunday characters riding BART: tourists, hipsters, workers, and young teens. I smiled at them especially, the teenagers, excused their loudness, their energy. I imagined my teenaged daughters and son acting a little crazy just like them on the BART.

As we slipped past West Oakland station, I began to close my book, gather my belongings, but when we pulled into the Lake Merritt station and not 12th street I was confused. I realized I had boarded the wrong train. On or off? I couldn’t decide in time, and the doors closed.

No biggie; I’d just get off at the next stop. Which was Fruitvale.

I froze right there.

The skyline swept into view as we emerged from the tunnel, late afternoon sun spilling over the port of Oakland, serene and blinding.

It hit me then: Fruitvale BART station, the place where Oscar Grant was murdered.

His murder has stuck with me since it happened on New Year’s Eve 2009. I have been to vigils. I have facilitated discussions in classrooms and at Rad Dad readings. I have refused to forget for the last year and a half now the violence that is consistently perpetrated on the youth in our society. Especially youth of color. Especially young men.

But I have not come to where it happened.

The train hummed to a stop and I stepped off. The platform was empty, barren, almost peaceful. The geography was familiar. The cement walls. The red tile flooring.

Immediately, those bumpy, pixilated cell phone images come to mind, and then the noise, the chaos.

It was nighttime.

There were kids along those walls.

There were cops strong-arming and stomping back and forth.

There was Oscar Grant pushed face down on to the ground.

Then, there was the shot.

Standing in the Fruitvale BART station, I couldn’t help but feel my chest well up with such emotions, such sadness, such anger.

I searched for the spot thinking there must be a memorial: candles, pictures, flowers, something.

But there was nothing.

No sign to mark the spot, no image to bear witness. Everything wiped clean. I wonder what is left behind?

I walked the platform.

Soon, the first train heading my direction arrived. Two young men stepped off, laughing, holding cell phones to their ears. They nodded at me and walked to the stairs.

I was alone again and felt that I should do something.

But then I saw it; someone had written something in black sharpie, on the railing.

“We remember.”

I remember this as I, like so many in the Bay Area, await the verdict that will most-likely come out in the next few days. Initially, I was nervous, but still sure that justice would be served. Nothing could bring back Oscar Grant, nothing could give his daughter her father back, but at least a message would be sent to other officers of the law.

Now, I am not so sure this will happen.

I don’t know how I will respond to the verdicts. I fear the police are all too ready to subdue, to quell, to brutalize.

But they will not scare me away.

One thing I do know is that my daughters and I will be there with other people in downtown Oakland the evening the verdict is released.

I know we will not forget.

Join us.

Rad Dad zine party in conjunction with the first Harvey Milk Day!

2010-05-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

Come join parents Tomas Moniz, writer/editor of Rad Dad zine, Rahula
Janowski writer of Joybringer zine, Jeremy Adam Smith, author of The
Daddy Shift and others as they read about the pleasure, politics, and
pain of radical parenting and radical families. The event takes place
on the first annual Harvey Milk Day! Not only California’s first
openly gay elected official, Harvey Milk was a trail blazing organizer
who built coalitions across race, class, and sexual orientation,
changing the face of San Francisco politics and organizing.

Location Modern Times
May 22nd 3-5 pm
Kid Friendly

a kid friendly wild rumpus!

2010-03-25T15:13:00.000-07:00

I was twenty and about to be a father. He had just turned twenty-one and was on his way to Redwood Summer, a call for people to come participate in direct action to save the redwoods and old growth forests of Northern California. We ran into each other at the local hardware store. It was May 1990. We had been friends during the school year at UCSB, studying together, attending environmental meetings on campus, talking politics, becoming more radical like many college students. We had fantasized in hushed tones during class breaks what it would be like to join hundreds of others attempting to make a change. But as the spring quarter came to a close, we saw less of each other; he, in fact, was actually planning on participating; I, however, was planning on preparing the small home I shared with my girlfriend for our first child.

So there we were standing in some aisle; it had been a couple weeks since we last talked. He was holding a back-pack full of stuff for a road trip. I was holding a bag of supplies to baby proof the electrical sockets in my house. He was picking things in preparation to camp out for weeks. I was going to pick up a few more shifts at the used bookstore that I worked for to help with the bills over the summer.

I remember the look on his face when he asked for the last time, ‘can’t you just leave the baby with your lady for awhile; they’ll both be here when you get back, but, right now, the earth needs you; right now, not when your child’s eighteen or nineteen.’

Now despite all the ways that this statement is fucked up, it’s painful for me to admit that it almost worked. I saw Rainbow Summer as my big chance, my opportunity to do something more. I feared that the pending birth of my son would be an impediment to my abilities to participate in creating social change. Up north in the trees: that’s where the action was, not singing lullabies and changing diapers.

And so I squirmed and gave some lame excuse about how I would love to go but that my lady won’t let me. Pathetic to blame family, to see it as a burden. But I did.

Now as much as I hold myself responsible for those former attitudes, and I do, I believe there is a larger issue also at fault. As a burgeoning radical, I was surrounded by a mythology of revolution that celebrated only one way to be a revolutionary; and, believe me, there were no newborn infants involved.

So at the time, I felt cheated at having to miss this event because of my other responsibilities; I mean all my radical role models seemed to have chosen otherwise. Che (and who didn’t love Che at twenty) left his kids behind and wrote oft-quoted, eloquent letters home; Ulrike Meinhoff, who haunted my dreams as one of the few revolutionaries who had kids and chose to commit herself anyways, had to send her children into hiding and then sever connections with them entirely; my chicano icons Joaquin Murrieta or Gregorio Cortez, didn’t saddle up with their two year old. In the corridos about them, there were only guns, whiskey, and getaways.

None of the stories my friend and I shared about radical politics included parents or children or grandparents or safe spaces.

So he left, and I remained.

I went on to evolve into a radical parent through reading and studying and working to create a small community of like-minded parents. But during those first few years, I secretly dreamed of the chance to once again be “able” to participate like a “true” revolutionary. The mythology of the revolutionary created a chasm between what I was “doing” and what was “important;” someday, I consoled myself, I could return to the fray, just as soon as I got the kids to bed.

So I longed for the road to the next demonstration even as I sat worked to create a childcare cooperative in my neighborhood. I imagined campfires in the forests of Northern California while I changed diapers on my feminist studies teacher’s desk. I dreamed of delivering fiery orations as I read Where The Wild Things Are over and over to my son, both of us yelling, ‘let the wild rumpus begin.’ However, it finally dawned on me: why the hell couldn’t there be a kid friendly wild rumpus?

And, yes, I know there were parents who have been able to participate in various forms of resistance throughout history (a testament, I’d bet, to the people who surrounded them). I have even had powerful support from my family to dedicate time, energy, and finances to various projects. So it can be done. But it shouldn’t be so daunting, so isolating. I am calling for an end to the dangerously powerful myth that revolutionaries leave their families behind. We shouldn’t have to choose? That’s a false dilemma. I sometimes dream about what might have happened had my friend encouraged me to come with my lady and my baby. Perhaps I still would not have gone. Or perhaps I would have. Perhaps some else like me would have. Perhaps a bunch of us would have. If the entire event was kid friendly, family friendly, with various actions and spaces, some of which, of course, could be more “direct” than others. But the possibilities, the potential, seem unlimited.

How about a new mythology, celebrating revolutionaries who refuse to leave anyone behind and refuse to remain silent? If I have learned anything, I have learned this: whatever we are involved in, it should take into account the ability for multigenerational participation. That’s sustainability, that’s revolutionary, that’s the pre-figurative politics I want to commit myself to.

My son is now nineteen; I am at peace and, in fact, grateful for the choices I have made. Looking back over the time that has elapsed, I have no regrets. I often wonder what my friend is doing. I want to ask him how that summer turned out. What was climbing those tall trees like? What craziness happened around the campfires? Did he fall in love with a little earth mama like we joked about? I’d also like to thank him. He was one of many people I have met in the radical community who have inspired and revolutionized me.

In fact, when I think about being a radical parent and an anarchist, I remember fondly all the strange, amazing people that I‘ve met in this loose-knit diverse thing we call a radical community who continue to challenge my thinking and expectations: the ones who organize anarchist conferences with childcare and parenting panels, the mamas and papas writing zines and the allies who buy them, the infoshop volunteers who do it year after year, the anarchist parenting listservs with their thoughtful reflections on how to parent in radical ways, the wandering crusties I encounter as I travel, sometimes alone, sometimes with my children, the artists who plan midnight mystery murder bike rides, and the strangers in distant cities who welcome me into their homes.

Because whether I’m home or on the road, whether I’m with my children or not, I am always a parent as well as a radical, and I will not be silent about demanding we consider ways to include everyone. And when I’m old, I want to embellish stories of my swarthy figure, similar to the Chicano banditos of old, only instead of the reigns of a horse, I am cupping the palm of my child.

Welcome to rad dad 17!

lots of upcoming events

2010-02-19T08:17:00.000-08:00

1. rad dad 17 release party march 11, 7 pm ro ck, paper, scissors in oakland!!

i am excited to announce on the eve of the bay area anarchist bookfair
weekend, rad dad will have a release party in conjunction with corbin
lewars' release of creating a life and her long running zine reality
mom as well as the release of the new issue of mamaphiles...

i will also have a table at the march 5 oakland art murmur in front of rps to spread the word -- stop on by

2. on saturday and sunday march 13-14 the 10th annual bay area anarchist bookfair will be kick ass with so many radical mama and papa events so look out. there will be two panels and several parenting writers having events around the bay...

3. on sunday march 14th at 5pm at the green arcade in solidarity with my baby rides the short bus and the daddy shift, a bunch of parents will give brief readings...come on by...

Ten reasons why I both love and hate cell phones

2010-02-07T19:08:00.000-08:00

Or, yes dad I know, no sexting!

If you saw me now with my iphone, warm against my left butt cheek like a lover’s palm, the last thing I see before bed, the first thing I stroke in the morning, you wouldn’t believe that less than two years ago, I had never even owned a cell phone. I was (and to be honest still am) a Luddite in theory though in practice I struggle. It’s become even more of a struggle now as each one of my three kids has a cell phone. Sometimes I wonder what the hell happened to me. But in an effort to understand more critically my love/hate relationship with the cell phone, I explored these ten scenarios.

Reason 1:

SUANT p: \sue –ant\: Lying on the couch, my daughter and I were watching a movie and every couple minutes I observed the dexterity with which she would do her nifty wonder-woman like phone flip, nimble fingers texting faster than I could LOL and then slip the phone back in to her lap.
What the hell’s going on? I barked, that’s so irritating.
Dad, it’s a SUANT night.
What?
SUANT, she declared as if I should know exactly what the hell she was talking about, Stay Up All Night Texting. Me and my friends are doing it.
Are you serious? I asked.
My daughter’s response: the perfect eye roll, and then, as if to accentuate the point, her phone buzzed.
Flip.
Text.
Flip.
Yes, dad, I am.
Now recently, my kids have been very interested in reading everything I write for rad dad for “clarity and honesty” they intone, like editors from hell. So after this exchange I told My Youngest that I was working on an essay about cell phones and said, you know this has gotta go in that essay.
Whatever.
And, I added, I gotta text your mom about this, grabbing my own phone which conveniently is always within arm’s reach.
You text? My Youngest declared horrified as if she’d just seen me naked.
Ah, yeah.
Stop acting twenty, Dad. You’re forty.
Somehow every conversation ends with this statement
Addendum: a few weeks later when I read what I wrote to her, she laughed and smiled but confessed, well, we really only ever stay up to twelve texting.

Reason 2:

Random text messages that continue conversations or more particularly arguments from days earlier. I’m in my office one morning. And in comes a text from My Youngest; she’s had the phone for only a month, so each text is the cutest thing in the world: an ‘I love you, dad’ here, an ‘I miss u’ there, perhaps even a random ‘hey dad, whats happenin.’ So I open the text and discover nothing of the sort, but instead find a final point in a week long discussion we’ve had about shaving her legs since she’s eleven. ‘what about that smooth away stuff - it’s not a razor and it’s not a chemical!!!’ We initially agreed that we’d consider it after the holidays. This, of course, was unacceptable to her. So her strategy: intimidating and/or pleading texts sent sporadically at various times of the day and night to pressure me in to caving. She’s trying to wear me down, I know. I text back, ‘how ‘bout we just wait until your legs are as hairy as mine and then you can decide if you want to.’
Ah, the textual silence that follows.

Reason 3:

I love photos. I own two manual cameras, a Polaroid and a stash of Polaroid film. However, there is something cheesy and immediate about cell phone images, the pixilated quality, the surreal feel captured. Like these scattered throughout the essay.

Reason 4:

Lately my son and I have been a bit short with each other, and what I mean by short is that within thirty seconds of him entering a room, we both end up screaming at each other. So ironically the cell phone gives us the distance and space we need to be able to talk about things in a normal tone of voice. Of course, I have to get over the momentary panic coursing through my body when I initially see the call is from him fearing it is going to be about being arrested: but every now and then:
Ohmygod Dad, guess what.
What?
Guess who’s walking in front of me.
Who?
The Raiders’ head coach.
Raaaaaaideeeerrrss, I yell.
Raaaaaaideeeerrrss, he responds like some strange bonding ritual in which all acrimony is immediately forgiven and forgotten.
Ask him what the fuck, I excitedly implore.
What the fuck!, I hear him yell.
Then, realizing my son might actually accost the head coach of a National Football Team, I quickly decide to redirect with a more positive approach. Ah, the art of redirection; some toddler parenting skills you never forget, especially when they seem to also work so well with young adults.
Hey, wait; tell him, tell him that you still got faith.
Yeah, that’s a good one. Ok I’m gonna do it. Thanks, Dad.
Click and he hangs up before I have a chance to say, you’re welcome son, you’re welcome.

Reason 5:

When I call my Middle Daughter she often asks why I sound so grumpy. And I am. It’s horrible but the explanation is simple. I blame the 45 second delay in each and every phone call as we try to establish who is speaking. It goes something like this, I call her and she answers:
Hello.
Zor-
What? Hello.
Zor-
Um, hello, hello!?
Zora list-
Uh, yeah well um hello?!
Repeat for at least 20 more seconds and by the time it actually all clears up I feel like grounding her. Instead, I take a deep breath in and, of course, as if the universe is testing to see if I am really breathing deeply enough, I usually hear one final: um, hello.

Reason 6:

The realization that my children’s friends no longer have to interact with me as a parent. I think this make kids kinda creepy. Especially teenage boys. Both my daughters’ boy friends (note from The Kid Editor friends that are boys, not boyfriends) stand a house away when they “come over” and text that they’re here. So instead of having to knock on the door and be greeted by me, they sulk forty feet away and wait for them to come out.
What happened to showing a little courtesy, what happened to navigating the small talk, what happened to my chance to be the scary father interrogating hapless thirteen year olds? I want that chance.
Solution: Dad, my friend’s outside. Can I go play? My Middle Daughter shouts down from her lair upstairs.
I rush to look out the living room window, and sure enough at the corner of the house just out of sight stands a group of kids.
Ok, I yell, but let me walk you out.
Now my Middle Daughter is quick, but the speed with which she bounds down the stairs three at a time is impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child move faster, bolting out the door ahead of me, an audible trail of, it’s fine, Dad. I’ll be back in a few. Stay inside and relax.
Needless to say, I don’t.

Reason 7:

I know it sounds horrible and manipulative, but in a fit of fear and distrust, I somehow informed my kids that when the bill comes I am able to read every text message they send and receive.
My Middle Daughter nods her head, her face full of trust and says, wow, really. Every one. That’s gotta be one hecka long bill. And simply goes back to whatever she is doing.
However, I begin to feel a burning sensation on the side of my head; it’s My Youngest staring at me. Finally she asks, Dad, can you see them if I delete them?
Immediately, I suspect something devious. I know I better be careful.
Why do you want to know?
No reason, and then as if on cue.
Buzz. Smile. Flip. Text. Flip. She looks back at me.
I’m just curious.
Somehow I feel outwitted.

Reason 8:

My Middle Daughter pleaded to be allowed to go to her first high school party. Of course there were random text messages in the days leading up to the party. ‘You’re the best, dad.’ Two hours later. ‘So can I go?’ I’m such a sucker.
As she leaves for the party with a friend’s parent, I calmly state:
Now when I come to pick you up, I’ll call when I’m outside.
Ok, Dad, she utters pushing me away from the car window.
I decide to add, you know if you don’t answer the phone when I pull up though, I’m coming in to the house to find you.
Both her and her friend stop everything they are doing and stare at me horrified for what feels like 30 seconds. And then my Middle Daughter calmly states: don’t worry, Dad. Believe me, that’s one call I’m not gonna miss.

Reason 9:

Driving my nineteen year old son, who is moving to NYC, to the airport, I joke with him about the things I’ll miss: yelling at him to turn down the music or picking up his soiled underwear off the bathroom floor.
We laugh and then he yells, shit!
What?
I forgot my cell phone charger at the house.
This was after we had to turn around twice already for things he forgot: his 600 hundred dollars he had stashed in a sock that he put into a bag of clothes to give to Goodwill as well as a third baseball hat he just had to have.
I, of course, want to say something about irresponsibility and how that’ll have to change as he’s on his own now, but instead I smile and say, well I guess you’ll have to just write me a letter then.
I will dad, I will. Or maybe I can get grandma to just buy me a charger.
And off he goes.
Good luck!
Addendum: it’s seems distance and cell phones do make the heart grow fonder; we’ve talked every other day.

Reason 10:

As I hand My Youngest Daughter, my sweet, innocent eleven year old, her first cell phone, I am about to give her a little word to the wise.
Now remember, baby-
I know, Dad, I know, she interrupts.
What? I ask wondering what cute little thing she knows about owning a cell phone.
She looks me in the eye and says, no sexting. I’m only eleven, Dad, I don’t even have a boyfriend.
I almost drop the phone out of my hand, but manage to say, well, I was gonna say something abut not leaving your phone anywhere. But how do you know about sexting? I ask.
How do you, Dad?! Remember you’re forty, not twenty, gosh.

zine expo in san jose

2010-01-26T15:23:00.000-08:00

I'll have a table at this event.

Anno Domini // the second coming of Art & Design - 366 South First Street

Opening Reception: ART OF ZINES 2010 featuring hundreds of zines from basements, bedrooms and midnight copy shops througout the U.S. and abroad.

Opening Reception: First Friday February 5th, 8pm 'til late
Part of the South FIRST FRIDAYS art walk in downtown San Jose's SoFA District. Visit http://www.SouthFIRSTFRIDAYS.com for the full lineup.

We love zines… those little diy, cut-and-paste, copied-on-the-cheap, hand-folded, self-distributed gems that continue to surface because someone, somewhere feels the need to express themselves. It's that simple. Zines exist and fleurish outside the mainstream with no particular interest whether you're paying attention or not. According to Chip Rowe, creator of Chip's Closet Cleaner, "They're Tinkertoys for malcontents. They're obsessed with obsession. They're extraordinary and ordinary. They're about strangeness but since it's usually happening somewhere else you're kind of relieved."

what better way to start off the new year!

2009-12-29T08:56:00.000-08:00

I am excited to do a reading with long time friend and zine godmother Artnoose of Kerbloom, which I just happened to quote in the intro to rad dad 16 and Magpie, formerly of Steampunk Magazine and now the author of a recently released book Mythmakers and Lawbreakers: Anarchist Writers on Fiction.

It will be January 15th at the Long Haul in South Berkeley (whatwhat) starting at 7pm - 9pm.

Hope to see you all there...

rad dad 16 arrives just in time

2009-12-05T18:16:00.000-08:00

for all them holiday gift givers...

still just three bucks plus postage – a perfect gift for the lovers, the parents, the allies, all those people in your life who dream of a better world...

surprise them with stories of bike trips with pops, cell phone drama with kids, an interview with a commie papa, plus book reviews!!!

Correction: I regrettably misspelled Adrienne Skye Roberts' last name in the title column of this issue. Please note.

My Baby Rides the Short Bus -- a review

2009-11-15T16:21:00.000-08:00

I enjoy learning things from a book, those moments when you are stunned at what you just read, or shocked at some statistic, some point, some example. Those are the books I cherish. My Baby Rides the Short Bus was just such an experience.

From reading the introduction and on through the essays, I learned that some parents of special needs kids are radical prior to becoming parents and some become radicalized through parenting. I learned that they struggle, make mistakes, come to realizations about things they did, realizations that cause them pain, that inform choices they will make in the future, that serve as a catalyst for standing up and fighting for change.

I learned that, like parents everywhere, "they learn how their kids function and they make it happen as well as they can." Just like me; just like you.

But I also learned about the complexity of parenting, how it is something we learn to do, how we discover the depth of our militancy, awareness and patience, strengths sometimes we didn’t know we even had. Until we needed them.

I learned that the medical profession and schools and court systems, which can be difficult to navigate in general, can be downright ruthless when dealing with a special needs child and family.

I learned how encounters with these institutions can belittle, can terrify, can cut deeply.

I also learned that encounters with other parents sometimes hurt the most.

I learned a little humility.

I learned new words: neurotypical, authentic activism, and scores of acronyms I never knew existed.

I was reminded how sometimes the simplest things are the most effective, like playing with your child. Down on the ground rolling around.

I was reminded of the intensity of love. How sometimes the best thing to do is pick up your child off the floor and walk away, leave the office, ignore the advice. And yet, sometimes the most difficult act of love is to let go, to trust.

Reading My Baby Rides the Short Bus, I was reminded of the ferocity with which we love, the depths of our feelings, the need for community.

I was reminded of the power of sharing stories.

These are the stories I want to hear. The stories of pain and fear, stories of surprising strength, of learning, and then of doing. As Sharis Ingram writes, “at some point you will give up trying so hard, and come to trust yourself, trust your child, trust what *is.*”

Trust me, and go get the book.

cool review in Library Journal

2009-11-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

read full review here:

It's no wonder Rad Dad won the 2009 Utne Independent Press Award for Best Zine. In just a few pages, Moniz and his contributors manage to turn traditional notions of parenthood and family on their heads. Addressing societal and cultural issues in the context of raising kids, each piece opens the door for dialog, acknowledging the common fears and struggles of parents and seeking solutions through community to raise a more caring and open-minded future generation. Recommended for parents, child-care workers, and activists.

Next Issue Theme and Deadline: December 1st

2009-11-04T09:18:00.000-08:00

Winter fast approaches. For my family it’s a time of contradictions. The time of holidays and visiting family. A time to question traditions, yet a time my kids begin compiling lengthy lists of things they want, they must have. Socially, it’s a time of rampant consumerism, of the spectacle of this capitalist culture at its most perverse.

What are we to do as parents, as individuals? What do you do?

For the next issue of rad dad tell us; consider winter in all its glory, in all its potential, the beauty of quietness, of hibernation, in the profound way it sets the stage for the coming rebirth.

Send in stories, polemics, celebrations, recipes, songs sung with you and your people to keep at bay the monsters, lurking, lurking...

With much love and respect,

tomas

come join us at the first ever release party!!!

2009-10-23T14:52:00.000-07:00

Come join us on November 6th at 7 pm at Book Zoo in North Oakland, for the first ever rad dad zine release party to help with publishing costs, to help spread the word, and to just have fun hearing parents read their writing aloud…

Consider it a Parents Salon.

There will be music, zines to buy, and awesome parents sharing their writing for you to enjoy. Kid friendly!

Book Zoo
6395 Telegraph Avenue
Oakland, CA 94609
(510) 654-2665

rad dad 15 is here

2009-09-24T16:17:00.000-07:00

Hot off the presses – rad dad fifteen! Still just three bucks plus postage – a perfect gift for the lovers, the parents, the strikers walking out of UC and anarchists fightin in Pittsburgh, all those dreaming and conspiring…surprise them with stories of tree-sits, dating, and the meaning of FOIL…radical parenting is hella sexy

Parenting Has Everything to Do With You

2009-09-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

On Open Letter to My Fellow Zinesters!

Thanks to Kate Haas and China Martens for their help and inspiration!

As he sauntered past my table I knew what he was gonna say; I could see it in his eyes.

‘It must be strange to be like the only zine on parenting. I mean how many parents still make zines, right?’

I get a version of this statement every time I tell someone I do a zine. I generally shake my head and say, ‘well, there’s actually a huge history of parenting zines….’

And almost immediately their eyes glaze over, as if I’m explaining the mechanics of pumping and preserving breast milk, and when they see I’m done, they say something like, ‘well, that’s cool, but I guess it’s not for me; what does a zine on fathering have to do with me?’

Ok, here’s my official response for the record on both these rhetorical questions.

Allow me to respond to the last question first: why you should read a zine on parenting even if you are not a parent. Let me ask you this: what does a zine on punk life in the East Bay have to do with you, what does a comic zine with foxes and bunnies as characters have to do with you, or a zine on being a fisherwoman in the Pacific Northwest have to do with you. Most likely nothing. But what they do have to offer you is this: good storytelling, filled with poignant moments displaying our humanness, our tenderness, our commitment, our love. That is why zines are so amazing.

At the risk of sounding self-aggrandizing, I have to say the best parenting zines are as much about parenting as they are about trying to live an authentic life, about trying to love honestly and consciously, about working to create a better world. And that has everything to do with you.

So hell yes, pick one up.

And for the initial question, I figured I’d research the genealogy of parenting zines, which I tried to do, but soon realized that it seemed impossible to find a starting point: the reality of parents asking questions, sharing strategies, and soothing fears has been around in one shape or another for a long time. Plus parenting issues tend to morph into various other areas of people’s lives, so is a zine on alternative living a zine on parenting? Well, yes. Is a zine on dropping out of school a zine on parenting? Actually, yes. On navigating non-monogamous relationships, on living in another country, on pirates and the history of arrr matey? Yes, yes, and (surprisingly) yes. I have, in fact, seen many of these very zines.

So how’s this for a history: we’ve been around for a long time.

Looking back historically, however, we can clearly see that an important moment for all zines was the early to mid nineties, a period that that saw the birth of Hip Mama and The Future Generation. These two and other zines inspired and continue to inspire parents and non-parents to take up the pen and stapler to this day.
Then, in the early 2000s, there was another explosion of new zines. Even today, despite the continued growth of blog and website accessibility, I believe zines have yet to reach their peak. In fact, the audience for zines is now greater than ever. As a friend of mine said, ‘back in the nineties they were an oddity, today they’re a genre.’

Personally, I love all zines, love the hands on quality, the notes I write in them when I give mine away, the quirky and individual touches that each zinester does to her zine. And no amount of changing the font or margin colors on a blog can replicate that personal quality.

There is no denying though that the internet has provided a cheap, easy way for many parents (and writers in general) to connect and share stories. And so, many people wonder what the future holds for zines. I, too, have been thinking about this issue and the future of my own zine, rad dad. And in doing so, I discovered an interesting point that reminds me how vital zines still are.

Zines are consciously exclusionary. Hold on; let me explain because when I hear this I immediately become nervous and suspicious because (let me gernalize for a second) zines historically have been “white,” mirroring the communities in which they initially caught on: punk and soon after, radical leftist circles. Of course, there were people of color active in those communities, and there were zines by people of color during that time period. And zine culture has slowly become more and more diverse.

But my point in all this is that exclusivity can also be an asset, an attempt to stay connected to ideals and to others in similar circumstances. Zines speak to an intended community. Perhaps even strive to create that community. People have to work to find them, have to pay money or trade their own zine for them, perhaps even write an actual letter.

However, it is important to remember that this exclusivity places more responsibility on us as writers to be self-reflective about our goals, to ask tough questions about whom we are writing to and who has access.

And if what we discover is acceptable to us.

I can’t stress this fact enough. For example, I want my zine to be everywhere, to be in people’s hands, on the buses, in bathrooms, at places of work, and not relegated to when someone has the time (and privilege) to peruse the internet at their leisure. I also don’t really want my zine displayed in some upscale baby boutique.

Sometimes the exclusivity of zines can be a defense mechanism. There are so many parents out there that if even five percent were interested in rad dad, I am afraid to imagine what that kind of attention would do to the stated mission of rad dad: to be a space for diverse voices, men and women of color, trans parents, anarchist parents, all those trying to parent in conscientious ways. How might that attention change my choices as editor to please more readers or affect my decisions about whom I publish?
I guess for me, I’ll stick to folding and stapling, to answering letters and writing them; I’ll relish the pleasure of asking a fellow writer to trade my zine for his. It’s like a secret.

A handshake.

A wink.

So I’m ready for the next shocked reaction when a person sees my forty year old butt sitting behind a table trying to sell zines. ‘Here,’ I’ll say, ‘read this and let me know what you think. I wrote it just for you.’

Here is a brief list of zines both past and present to check out.

Current mama and papa zines:
• Welfare Warriors/Welfare Mothers Voice Newspaper (1986) by, for, and about mothers in poverty.
• The Future Generation (1989) the longest-running subculture parenting zine written by single mama China Martens.
• Hip Mama (1993) the mother of mothering zines.
• Miranda (1998) Portland mama zine.
• La Dama (1998), still going on after eleven years
• East Village Inky (1999) immensely popular hand written and drawn zine. Everyone loves monkey.
• Hermana Resist (2002) by Noemi Martinez, but now it’s online only, with the promise of one last issue!
• Joybringer (2003) zine on staying politically engaged, creating communities that are multigenerational, and having fun all while parenting.
• Mamaphiles,(2003, 05, 07) a huge compilation zine (three issues so far) by over two dozen mama (and a few papa) zinesters with a fourth issue coming out soon.

Random and totally subjective list of cool mama and papa zines that have flown the coop:
• Amazing True Story of a Teenage Single, 1998 early graphic novel (thought it was a zine but not sure now). Please read this.
• Zuzu and the Baby Catcher, local Portland zine ended in 00s.
• Placenta (early 2000s) the punk rock and vegan parenting zine, only saw the first issue but loved it.
• Baby Bloc, the Activist Family Handbook 2003 -2006. I loved the politics and the illustrations.
• Mama Sez No War 2003 about mamas’ actions to protest the U.S.’s invasion of Iraq. Part of Vikki law’s prodigious body of work; check out her new book Resistance behind Bars, which grew out of a zine.
• Pirate Papa (2004) one kick ass issue.

One time zines or special issues:
• Earth First printed a “Birth First” insert in their newspaper; it was interesting yet a little freaky that it was trying to justify the choice to have kids.
• Maximum Rock-n-Roll (2000) puts out “Punks with Kids” special issue. Jessica Mills contributed to that issue and starts her own column in MRR that September: My Mother Wears Combat Boots. After 3 years of writing monthly columns, Jessica (editor of Yard Wide Yarns zine) puts out kick ass book called My Mother Wears Combat Boots.
• My Baby Rides the Short Bus, a collection of essays by parents of kids with special needs.
• As Soon As You’re Born They Make You Feel Small (1985) (from a review) A very important (and fun!) pamphlet that seeks to cover the largely ignored territory of kids’ liberation. This would be a good read for parents, kids, or anyone who works with kids and recognizes their potential for integrity, intelligence, and individuality.
• Phases of the Moon, it’s the account by two young, poor, on-the-road punk rock kids, of the year they accidentally conceived a child and made the decision to place her for adoption. A really interesting, thoughtful read (thanks Kate of Miranda zine).

four years ago -- still we wade

2009-08-31T09:44:00.000-07:00

A few months after I started rad dad, hurricane Katrina hit. The aftermath was still a news story in the media as I sat down to write the intro to the second issue. So here's an excerpt of it as a reminder that, like parenting, the affects continue long after hurricanes or mothers and fathers are gone...

tomas

Of all the pictures of the devastation that hurricane Katrina wrought, there was one that stopped me cold, that had me mesmerized, overwhelmed, that just seemed to contain all that I wanted to believe about people in general but in particular, about men, about fathers. The picture transcended all the racist media spin, it eased the pain of the decimated street scenes, the moments of panic. One man. One child. Not his even. He was wading through water; he was holding that child like it was the most important thing he could do, like not just that child‘s life but his life depended on their safe arrival. He asked no questions about whose child it was, no need to ascertain ownership, or ask permission. No pathetic excuses about needing to wait and see, to try hard like we kept hearing from the “men” in charge of the federal response. He just knew: I help this child, I help myself; I help all of us get by. There was such humanity embodied in his arms, in the determination in his eyes. It spoke to me as the epitome of “fathering,” of caring for not just our immediate family but for all our relations. It reminded me of how much of an impact we can have on the children in our lives, how easy it is to overlook, to forget, to deprioritize others as we take care of our own.

I had an argument about this a few weeks ago with a man who said it’s not his responsibility to know how to be around other people’s kids. I think he feels this way because of the silence around parenting (especially male parenting), around the public perception of children being seen not heard, of good behavior equaling good kids…

I am always puzzled by the responses I get when I say I edit a zine on fathering, on how parents impact the world and the children about them. Most people smile and say I ain’t a dad, or I don’t know anyone who’s a parent. And when I ask if there are children in their lives or if they’re uncles or if they still talk with their parents, most people just smile and say something like, ‘well I’ll deal with that later, those things don’t relate to me now. ‘

Tell that to the man who picked up the child, held her close to his chest and waded out in the waters which were destroying the very place he lived. How we relate to our own children, how connect with the kids and teenagers on our blocks and in our communities is analogous with how we envision a better world, a more compassionate, loving, sustainable world. If we continue to curtail that relationship, we will continue to live our lives surrounded by levees that cannot hold…

three zine festivals!!!

2009-07-08T17:18:00.000-07:00

so i will be tabling at three zine festivals coming up over the next month and a half and would love to meet more radical parents, their kids, and allies!!!

sacto zine fest -- july 11 from 1:00 p.m. - 10:00 p.m. at the Brickhouse Gallery, 2837 36th St., Sacramento, CA

portland zine fest -- july 24-26 -- kerlin richter from hip mama and i will be on a panel at this year's zine fest talking about zines, parenting, and politics

san francisco zine fest -- august 22 - 23 -- look for my daughter's cute greeting cards to adorn my table again this year....

Raising Hell: For Ella, my daughter, who asks why?

2009-06-21T09:33:00.001-07:00

Note: this is the intro to rad dad 14. I want to call on fathers everywhere to make a commitment to all youth and not just their 'own.'

On the night Barak Obama was elected, he threw out this rhetorical question: If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible…

I’d like a chance to answer.

Yes, Mr. president, there are.

Let me start with a story and then some facts:

Just two days before my daughters and I were leaving on a 5 week trip to southeast Asia, I heard a call come into my home phone. It was a collect call. My heart froze; it was from my son, who was being held in county jail, no longer a juvenile but now an eighteen year old “adult.” I was frustrated and confused. I could barely find out what happened because the cops were so unhelpful and condescending in my attempt to check on his situation and well-being. I was told that after he tried to evade police, they “subdued” him. Subdued?! What the fuck does that mean? I asked if he is hurt in any way. The officer said, ‘I looked at his mug shot and his face seems fine. Just a bloody nose.’ I couldn’t even talk to my son about what happened because the phones were monitored.

Then there were the other questions: should we still go on our trip? should we change our plans? After much discussion, we departed leaving his mother and the rest of our community to handle the situation, which didn’t appear to be over any time soon.

We had been in Thailand for just a week. It was a few days after New Years. We were at the point of feeling a bit homesick, missing our homes in Berkeley and Oakland, when a person whom we met on the road said, wow, you people in Oakland are crazy.

Oscar Grant had been murdered by BART police, unarmed and face down on the ground. He was shot in the back. In the aftermath, the people in Oakland took to the streets. Not knowing anything abut the situation, we made our way to an internet café and watched the video of his murder and of the protests on the streets of our home. My kids and I were stunned. We looked at each other, angry, horrified. There was nothing to say really. Until Ella, my youngest asked, how old was he?

Twenty two, I said.

Why’d they shoot him?

I shook my head.

Why does this happen? she continued.

I didn’t know what to say. What answers should I give her?

I don’t know why this happens, I responded.

She looked straight at me and declared, that coulda been Dylan, that coulda been our brother.

I know, I said, I know.

Some facts from the Ella Baker Center:

Of the 1,950 youth in California Department of Juvenile Justice (DJJ) prisons as of July 2008, 87% are young people of color. And virtually all of the kids inside are from low-income backgrounds….On average, children of color in California grow up with fewer services, poorer schools, more toxicity, more street violence and, as they grow older, fewer job opportunities than their white counterparts. These disparities carry over into the criminal justice system. When suspected of the same infractions, youth of color are more likely to be arrested, prosecuted, and jailed than white youth.

Since that day when my daughters and I discussed Oscar Grant, I have been haunted by my desire to answer Ella’s question with more than a head shake, a hug, and some lame phrase of disbelief.

I want to be able to look straight back at her with something to say.

I want to risk being honest with her.

Ella, this is why it happens.

We have failed you and other young people from the beginning. It is not about one cop killing one unarmed young man; it’s about the years of failure that many young people, like perhaps Oscar Grant, face in our society, from schools to jobs, from media representations to the courts.

This isn’t one isolated incident; this is a pattern.

And with pattern, there is usually design.

Ella, it happens because there is a war going on.

I know this sounds hyperbolic, but it’s true. Despite the “hope” and “change” we’ve been told will come from the top down like some liberal version of Reaganomics, if we just wait, the reality is that right now, right here on the streets of our cities, it is dangerous to be young. To be a teenager and a person of color can simply be deadly.

With the amount of consumer advertising budgets aimed at them, the pressure of social and gender conformity, and the economic stress of capitalist created desires, growing up is a constant battle.

As a young person, there is no room to test boundaries and make mistakes and challenge things that are given you. It’s a set-up. Community centers and after school programs close, so there’s no place to gather safely and legally; it’s prohibited to congregate on street corners and in parks past dark. We had to actually fight to get the local school playground open during the summer so that kids could play there during the day without get the cops called on them. It seems the only place safe to hang out is some shopping center, but you gotta have money to go there so you better hope you have job. Almost everything connected to youth culture, from skateboarding to the music you play, is seen as suspect, something to distrust, an excuse for adults to call the cops. Basically, for many young folks, they are guilty before they step out their door. And especially if that door is in East Oakland or Richmond.

Ella, it happens because young people are expected to be perfect.

If you are a teenager and/or a person of color, whatever you do, don’t fuck up. Don’t make a mistake. And don’t get caught. People wonder why there’s a “don’t snitch policy” in many working class neighborhoods and communities of color. Because getting caught up in the legal system is a nightmare. People know this. We live in a society in which mistakes are costly and if you the wrong class or color, those mistakes aren’t things you can simply learn from, but shackles that are extremely difficult, time consuming, and expensive to free yourself from.

More Facts:

The end result is that, though African-Americans constitute an estimated six percent of California’s population, in 2008, a whopping 31 percent of the kids in DJJ were black. Latinos made up 36 percent of state residents but 55 percent of the DJJ population.

Here’s another story, an analogy.

I teach basic writing at the local community college. On the first day of classes, I sit for a minute in silence as they stare and wait for me to begin. But I wait. I wait for them to get uncomfortable, to shift in their chairs, to mumble something under their breaths about this crazy fool sitting in front of them. Then I say I’m just observing and thinking. I ask everyone to look around. What can we gather about our class? What do we see? After some playful remarks (usually about some cute girl across the room) someone will say, there ain’t that many white people in the class. Which is always the case.

And then I show them statistics from the school’s website.

For example: black students make up a quarter of the school population but more than half of the basic skills population. That success rates from basic skills instruction are dismally low. That the statistics of basic skills classes eerily mirror the statistics of the prison system.

That this the ghetto of the school.

This the reservation.

The interment camp.

How do they feel about this? Now, there is a different kinda silence in the classroom.

I try to be honest with my students. Because I believe with this knowledge comes the possibility of choice, comes determination, comes anger, perhaps action. It now is up to them individually and collectively to face these issues.

So I am trying to be honest with you, Ella.

Unfortunately, it is also your responsibility to face these issues. Someday soon it will be you out on the streets at night with your friends. It will be you riding public transportation home after some holiday celebration perhaps running a bit wild, perhaps getting into a little trouble. It will be you and your friends that will be seen only in relation to your age, your clothes and style, your color. It will be you or your friend’s facing the gun.

Ella, but it is also my responsibility to do something about it as well. To do my best to trust you. To be honest with you about the potential consequences you face. To love you unconditionally despite what the world around me says about teenagers and young people. To listen and believe and let go and support. To stand up for other young people who are dealing with these issues now. To not let things like Oscar Grant’s murder go unmourned. To remember the number of other people, both young and old, who might also raise their hands in response to Mr. President’s declaration. The doubters, the hell raisers, those trying to be honest in spite of the pressure to conform, to believe that everything for the most part is fine.

Ella, I wish I was there on that, albeit wonderful night, when President Barak Obama asked that question: Is there anyone out there who doubts…

And for you Ella, I hope I would have had the courage to raise my hand.

All statistics from The Ella Baker Center website http://www.ellabakercenter.org as well as the Berkeley City College http://vistawww.peralta.edu website. This article was also inspired by an article Cherrie Moraga wrote with the same quote.

report back from the second annual celebrating parents reading

2009-06-16T11:03:00.000-07:00

The other night, we had another wonderful “celebrating parents” event at Pegasus bookstore in downtown Berkeley, California. It was the second such event and we hope to have a third. I am hoping we get some musical acts! It was wonderful to be in a space where kids and parents and the accompanying noise and chaos were all welcome.

One of the things I shared at the last event was a list of ways fathers (and others) can fight patriarchy.

And since I love lists here’s another. A list of things parent allies can do to support the parents in their communities. Feel free to add more things and I’ll include the entire list in the next issue of rad dad…Here it is:

Concrete things you can do to support parents/or childcare givers and children in your community.

Give children attention; talk to them, not about them, in a regular voice.
Don’t get upset if they don’t want to talk to you when you do.
Develop a consistent relationship with the children in your life. Set up a weekly or monthly date with a child.
Speak up for childcare issues in all areas of what you do. Don’t let it fall to the parent to have to ask about childcare, or if it is a child friendly event.
In general, feel free to ask a parent or childcare giver if you can help out when you see them “multi-tasking” (code word for overwhelmed, freaking out, having a melt down), and of course be gracious if they say no thank you.
Smile at parents.
Remember parenting doesn’t equal mothering; ask fathers how they are feeling as well.
If you are throwing a party, hosting a meeting, planning a running street protest, announce that it is or is not a child friendly event. And if for some reason the event is not, make sure you are prepared to help parents stay involved: child care, classes for older kids.
Create a space for children in your home: have some books to read and a toy or two to share when some little one (or not so little) comes over.
Look at the world from child’s height
Know how to change a diaper
If you’re dating a parent offer to chip in on childcare costs while on a date
Call your own parents regularly: remember you were a child
Take the initiative to invite parents to events or to just hang out, even if they decline…parents often feel isolated.
Remember parenting doesn’t end with infancy; parents of older children need allies too.
And of course buy yourself and parents alternative books and zines about parenting…yes shameless plug

Rad Dad Wins!

2009-05-26T10:26:00.001-07:00

Dear Mr. Moniz,

Congratulations! You’re the winner of the 2009 Utne Independent Press Award for Best Zine. We are honored to acknowledge your zine’s outstanding work last year, and hope to have the pleasure of reading it for years to come.

We’re sorry that you couldn’t make it to last night’s awards ceremony. We’ll be posting video from the event at our website, and sending out an official press release later today. We’ll also be sending out official letters and awards this week.

In the meantime, read all of the nice things we had to say about your zine—and watch a short video about the awards process (complete with Utne library tour!)—at www.utne.com/uipa2009.

Sincerely,

the Utne Reader staff

2nd annual summertime reading (or a celebrating parents day reading smack dab in-between mothers and father’s day)

2009-05-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

Sunday June 14th 5 pm
calling all mamas and papas
come to radical storytelling hour

readings by local parents on the pleasures, pains and politics of parenting

hosted by tomas moniz editor/writer of rad dad zine (nominated by utne magazine for best zine of 2009)

featuring:
jeremy smith, author of the daddy shift
rahula janowski, joybringer zine
robin dutton-cookston, author of the foggiest idea
and others

Pegasus Bookstore 2349 Shattuck Avenue
Phone: (510)649-1320
Downtown Berkeley
Kid friendly

because you never know -- the intro to rad dad 13

2009-05-14T11:43:00.000-07:00

Just a note to say that a bunch of local radical parents (including your very own Jeremy Adam Smith) will have a reading at Pegasus Bookstore in downtown Berkeley on June 14th at 5 pm -- spread the word and come out and say hi -- it should be a lot of fun! Here's my introduction to the newest issue of Rad Dad, nominated this year for an Independent Press Award for best 'zine:

Trust me. I was planning on writing this kick ass introduction for the fourth year anniversary issue of Rad Dad. The debut issue premiered at the 2005 SF Anarchist Bookfair (I make it sound all glamorous but really, I didn’t even have a table then, but occupied the free space outside the building). A lot of stuff has happened since then. I have met some amazingly inspiring and radical parents; the bookfair itself had evolved to include a kids’ space; last year we even had an anarchist parents panel! And, yes, now I have a table in the building. So I was all ready to write this articulate, perceptive, engaging manifesto on anarchism and parenting called A Primer on Potties, Procreation, and Politics. Or something clever like that. Trust me, I was.

But instead I find myself focusing on the little things. The small moments of fathering that bring my head and heart back to what is right in front of me. And upon reflection, I realize that it is in fact those very moments that all the theory and planning is put in to practice. It is in those moments we learn and test and reevaluate our values and morals; we discover our politics; we reveal on our honesty, our vulnerability, our humanity. What can be more radical than that? There is nothing wrong with theory and philosophy; in fact, I still want to write that manifesto, (someone out there wanna collaborate with me???) but for this introduction to Rad Dad 13, drummmrolll please, the anti-authoritarian anarchist zine on parenting, I simply want to share with you a few stories that for me get to the heart of this amazing, challenging, never static position we parents find ourselves in:

That coulda been…

Just two days before my daughters and I are leaving on a 5 week trip to southeast Asia, I hear a call come into my home phone. It’s a collect call. My heart freezes; it’s from my son, who is being held in county jail, no longer a juvenile but now an eighteen year old “adult.” I’m frustrated and confused. I can barely find out what happened because the cops are arrogant and condescending in my attempt to check on his situation and well-being. No help, no sympathy. I am told that after he tried to evade police, they “subdued” him. Subdued?! What the fuck does that mean? I ask if he is hurt in any way. The officer says, ‘I looked at his mug shot and his face seems fine. Just a bloody nose.’ I can’t even talk to my son about what happened because the phones are monitored.

Then there are the other questions: should we still go? should we change our plans? After much discussion, we depart leaving his mother and the rest of our community to handle the situation, which doesn’t appear to be over any time soon.

We had been in Thailand for just a week. It was a few days after New Years. We were at the point of feeling a bit homesick, missing our home in Berkeley and Oakland, when a person whom we met on the road says, damn you folks in Oakland are crazy.

Oscar Grant had been murdered, and in the aftermath, the people in Oakland took to the streets. Not knowing anything abut the situation, we make our way to an internet café and watch the video of his murder and of the protests on the streets of our home. My kids and I are stunned. We look at each other; we are all angry and horrified. There is nothing to say really. Until Ella, my youngest asks, how old was he?

Twenty two, I say.

Why’d they shoot him?

I shake my head.

Why does this happen? she asks.

At this point in her life, she knows me and knows my by now predictable stance on police brutality, on the need to rethink our criminal justice system and its affects on young people and people of color.

But what can I say now?

I don’t know why this happens, I respond.

She says that coulda been Dylan, that coulda been our brother.

I know, I say.

I know.

Kow Jai

After a few weeks of traveling, my daughters and I had the chance to meet up with Julia, a woman we meet earlier in our trip through a friend and who helped us out while we were in Bangkok. When we first met, I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed, and she was a blessing, showing us around the city for a couple days, making us feel at home. Her generosity really helped calm and relax me, something I needed after dealing with the stress of my son in jail and the reality of jet lag and the 15 hour time difference that hit me like a punch in the face (though my kids seemed amazingly unaffected!)

So we’re all there joking and feeling good; but it’s her laugh that is so amazing. It’s the best laugh: loud, guff, like a punchline. When she laughs, all three of us look at each and laugh even harder. To make matters worse, she speaks exactly like Tina Fey doing Sarah Palin; I can’t listen to her without smiling. The shitty thing I realize is that she’s the exact kinda person -- white, from the Midwest, dreads, yes dreads, hippie girl -- I would probably roll my eyes at, make some hasty generalization about with in earshot of my kids.

And my kids would hear and listen.

Yet when I, a complete stranger, needed some help, she was there, genuinely, asking no favor, nor thanks.

We we’re sitting around, telling stories over iced coffee - yes my daughters convinced me that they should be able to drink iced coffee while in Thailand -- don’t ask me how – discussing the differences we noticed between Thais and people in California. It just so happens, she’s is also tutoring this 13 yr old Thai girl who had asked the same exact question that morning. Julia says she’s not sure what the difference is and perhaps there really is no difference between us all. (I said she’s a hippy right)...

And then Ella shares with us all the Thai phrases she’s taught herself from her little Thai phrase book. After a few, she shares this one: ‘I don’t understand’ in Thai is ‘mai kow jai.’

Julia asks, so you wanna know what that literally means. It means ‘it has not entered my heart.’ Jai means heart and Kow means to enter or come into.

She smiles and I turn to her and ask, so when you wanna say ‘I understand’ you are saying: ‘it has entered my heart’?

That’s so amazing.

Oh yeaaah, she says, Thaïs always talk about their heart.

I say, that’s so opposite of us; we always talk about the mind. When do we ever talk about heart?

We both smile and she takes out her journal and writes a note about this to share with her student.

I look at my kids sipping their coffee and say: Ella and Zora kow jai. Kow jai.

Jai. Heart.

Why we do what we do

Here’s my favorite story from our travels. We were on a boat traveling between islands in the southwest of Thailand. The night before we had been struggling over the reality that my children were assigned homework to do while they were traveling. And not just some – shit loads. The school district doesn’t seem to think that they will learn anything outside of a classroom, regardless of the fact that the kids learned more about life in those five weeks than what could possibly be covered by the California state grade standards.

For example: the exchange rate for the Cambodian Riel is 4,226.87 for 1 dollar. Try figuring out how much a meal is when the bill’s 47,500 Riels? They learned phrases of Thai and Cambodian. They witnessed the social realties of global poverty. And talk about gender. Try explaining why we kept seeing signs about the dangers of “sex tourism” as well as the preponderance of so many older white men with super young Thai women.

Kids see a lot.

So as we were on the boat, we saw these fish jumping out of the water and flapping their little fishy wings like they were flying. We were amazed at them, whole schools jumping out and flying. I asked my youngest daughter why she thought that they evolved that way? What makes them do it? She shook her head and guessed that maybe they were escaping predators. I said, or perhaps it’s to see other fishies they wanna eat. Or maybe to breathe, she guessed.

Feeling like a good teacher helping my children rationally examine the world through the good ol’ scientific method, I turned to my middle child happily sitting there, head in a book, and I asked her why she thought they did that.

She looked at me and then looked out over the water and then without the slightest bit of hesitation said simply: because it’s fun. She returned to her reading.

I smiled. Yes. Because it’s fun.

It’s true: sometimes we do things because it’s fun.

Because it feels right.

Sometimes, there is no better reason.

So one of these next issues, I will address the historical implications of anarchist tendencies in regards to the notion of discipline. Or, How to Say ‘No’ the Anarchist Way. But for now, I am doing this because it feels right.

Because it’s fun.

Because it has entered my heart.

nominated for best zine of 2009!

2009-04-13T10:51:00.000-07:00

Utne has nominated rad dad as one of the best zines of 2009; in fact, there is an awards ceremony in Denver this May that I won't be able to attend but anyone there wanna represent, let me know...

check out also the video review in Utne of our latest issue at http://bit.ly/3140hc.

review of our latest issue at the microcosom website

2009-04-02T15:39:00.000-07:00

Rad Dad #13

Oh Rad Dad, why are you so freaking good every single issue? Why do I have to read you cover to cover the moment you land in my hands? Because you're full of heart-felt parenting stories from all types of radical dads. This is the 4th anniversary of Rad Dad, so Tomas' introduction is a story full of tiny moments that make up the experience of parenting. There are two articles written by both members of a queer couple, one of whom is transgendered. The write about their gender roles, and how they influence the way they perceive their parenting, and the way others' perceive them. There's also a birthing story, and a short piece reflecting on how to best approach your kids' Obama fever, when you might be a bit dubious yourself.

sf anarchist book fair and rad dad 13

2009-03-05T10:02:00.000-08:00

so the san francisco anarchist book fair is once again here, march 14th and 15th; i have a table to peddle the last few issues of rad dad including the brand new issue: rad dad 13!!!!

however, this year it will be only me at the table (unlike last year's parent fest with 4 other radical parents all hanging out at different times, visiting from different places) so i have room. if you have radical parenting material you'd like to share with people, i'd be happy to sell or distribute it for you. i know it's short notice so let me know soon if you're interested

and/or if you're in the bay area for the festival, stop on by and have a sit...

or at least say hello...

until

tomas

to my father

2009-02-15T19:25:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking a lot lately about how we say goodbye. How we honor and respect those people and things that are no longer in our lives but, like memories or genes or scars, remain always with us.

Saying goodbye has always been scary to me, linked to issues of abandonment and events happening outside of my control. I was too young to say goodbye to my father when he left us for jail. He was just gone.

I can remember having to saying goodbye to my life in Hawaii at the age of ten moving to California knowing no one, speaking a different slang; it felt like I said goodbye to my entire universe, and I had no choice in the matter.

And then four years later, I had to say goodbye to California when I was forced to return to Hawaii, a changed person, with a new accent and new interests. But saying goodbye when you move pales in comparison to saying goodbye when someone dies.

My father passed away on August 25th. I had the chance to sit with him for the last five days of his life, taking care of him, preparing him for hospice care, dealing with his insurance, his hygiene, his eating. It was like parenting your parent as a newborn. Something familiar yet disconcerting, something I was thankful I had the chance to do yet disturbed by.

When I first got the call to come home, I was terrified because this, of course, was another goodbye that I had no control over. There was no coming back from where he was going. The doctors knew it. He knew it. I knew it. There is a certain relief when faux optimism is replaced with the stark reality of what is coming. But relief and clarity don't make it any easier. On my way to the airport, a friend said to me: when you see him, touch him. Don't be afraid to touch him.

It feels like the best advice I have ever been given.

When I saw him in his barely recognizable state, yellow, bloated, often delirious, I was shocked, standing rigid for a second wondering what to say. But then I walked directly over to him and laid my hands on his arm, his cheek, touched his face, stroked his hair. It was a grounding act, a gesture that could say more to him than any of my words could.

We sat like that for days, often in silence, sometimes talking about my kids or my sisters and brothers; we never really directly said anything about the lives we led, the decisions that have pulled us apart and brought us together, but we touched, we hugged, my hands always on his.

On his last day alive, he was feeling good enough to go to the library to get some books for his stay in the hospice. He wheeled about the library while we stayed with the grandkids in the children's section. An hour later when he found us, he had a librarian with him holding a box of twenty seven books, most of them romantic novels. I now have someone to blame for my obsession with romantic comedies. Twenty seven books for a man who had less than a month to live. My brother laughed and said: Papa, how 'bout like one or two?

My father responded: Chale, mijo, you never know and plus I can't decide. They all look good.

Needless to say, we checked out every fucking book in the box and stacked them by his bed that afternoon.

However, he never got a chance to read any of them because he died that night while I was flying home to gather my children. When I told the story to my daughters, they asked me, in their infinite wisdom, if I knew the titles of the books. I realized I didn't and immediately picked up the phone and called my brother and asked him to write out all the titles. Perhaps one day, I'll read them.

The funeral was going to be in a week. We had a few days before my kids and I were to return to Albuquerque. In the meantime, I thought I'd do some research for a story I was writing. You know, to get my mind off of goodbyes, off of how we pay our respects to our past and to our history. So I went to the library to get this classic book called Subway Art, one of the first books ever published on graffiti; it contained hundreds of pictures taken by this old white dude who had the wherewithal to recognize the incredible art going on in New York city by these fifteen- and sixteen-year-old kids.

They had one copy in all of the Berkeley public library system, and it was in a special reserve section. I asked to see it and the librarian said: You can no longer take it out of the building. You have to stay right here.

I was thinking What's her problem. It's just a fucking book. Yes, I was in a foul mood that week. I said fine and walked to this table and sat down. I opened the book up and I was stunned. I understood why she was so careful.

At first I didn't know what to feel; at first I thought I was offended. Every possible piece of whiteness was covered with notes, with people writing in the book. Every margin and blank area, even some strategic spots in the pictures themselves, like backdrops behind people's faces or the sky above the trains, every possible space was covered with tags and throwies.

It was overwhelming.

People had written simple things like: J loves T, or westsiiiide, or just their names: Hector or Jaime. It was like they had come to pay their respects, to show their love. They were very careful not to cover any classic subway art. They wrote notes to their graffiti idols: Les you live forever, or lady Pink stole my heart. Page after page, I marveled at the intensity. I became filled with such a powerful feeling, like this book held so much, carried so many wishes and prayers, from so many kids who probably never felt this way about a book in their lives. Who had never even been to New York City. But here, in the pages of this book, they took their time to leave a little something behind. Here it was.

Honor.

Respect.

Love.

I thought to myself that this must be one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I couldn't help it; I just broke down right there in the library. And the best thing was no one did or said anything. Except this one old dude. He got up and brought me some tissue, dropped a box that must have been in the library on a table and walked away. It was the first time I had cried since my father died. I felt myself wanting to cover my face, trying to keep from crying, but I couldn't. I just let myself cry and turned page after page.

When we finally arrived for the funeral, the typical family drama ensued: we had to have both a Catholic and a Christian service, people argued over cremation or burial; I seemed to have offended everyone when I suggested we just divide up his ashes and bury some in the family plot we've had for over a hundred years and spread some in the mountains of northwestern New Mexico.

But none of these rituals was the kind of ritual I wanted to honor my father with or was the way I wanted to say goodbye.

I wanted to write something.

I wanted to put on paper the pain, the pleasure, the complexity of being his son. On the plane ride to see my father before he passed a way, I had taken out a sheet of lined paper. I wrote on the top of it: To My Father. I was ready to write out all the things I wanted to say to him.

For the entire week, I was taking care of him as well as the days before the funeral, I would take it out now and then and start something; then scratch it out. I'd write a word here or there, but ended up crossing them out. More often I'd take it out and look down at the blank sheet, the growing false starts and illegible words and find myself speechless.

Wordless.

At the funeral, they placed the casket in the front of the church so people could come up to see the body. Everyone waited and milled about for a while and then the Padrino asked the children to come up first. I watched as one child then another came up. My father was surrounded by a dozen children all looking in at his body and finally one reached out and touched him. Then another. And another. My kids were lost somewhere in the group. They petted his face, stroked his hair, picked up his stiff hands, some laughing, some crying, some looking blankly at a man most of them barely knew but had heard stories about. Some placed on his body little cards or pictures.

Finally, the adults got up, and I sat there and watched his friends approach him one at a time. Some didn't do anything but walk up and look down, share a moment of silence with him. Many walked up and bent down and whispered their final goodbyes, their final words to him. And many others walked up, and with the hand drawn pictures from the kids, left something: someone tucked a 60's peace patch in his hands, someone a crucifix, someone stuffed a twenty dollar bill in his pocket, someone left a Corona bottle cap, a bullet, a picture of him and a woman on a boat.

In the end, when it was the family's turn, I took out my scratches on the piece of paper, its solemn silence holding all the things I wanted to say but didn't have words for, all the anger and the sadness and the joy; in the end, I folded it up tightly and I tucked it into his suit. It joined the other tokens of remembrance, other parts of his story: the tears from family and friends, the softly spoken memories, the odds and ends people left with him.

In honor.

In remembrance.

With love.

In the end, I simply reached out and placed my hands on his.

And whispered goodbye.

a reading...

2008-09-24T20:18:00.001-07:00

Attention!

Lovers of Words & Free Wine & Cheese

Attention!

Poets & Playwrights & Fiction Writers

Attention!

Writers & Readers & Listeners

Announcing:

the triumphant return of

VELVET REVOLUTION

a reading series

Every Tuesday at 5pm

Join us in the fabulously cozy

Casablanca Room

(Creative Arts Building, Rm 158)

Each week there will be 2 featured writers and an open mic.

This is a chance to hear SFSU graduate and undergraduate students read their work.

And an opportunity for you to share your own writing.

BRING SOMETHING TO READ

(All genres welcome)

Our first event is September 30^th

Starring:

Tomas Moniz & Neale Jones

rad dad on the radio (well, internet)

2008-09-12T08:53:00.000-07:00

I won't be talking about yoga, but we'll talk about parenting, community, and other fun stuff I'm sure...

Event: Yoga Mama Satsangha with LaSara Firefox
"Interview with Tomas Moniz, of Rad Dad Zine."
What: Listening Party
Host: Revolutionary Moms and Dads.
Start Time: Friday, September 26 at 12:30pm
End Time: Friday, September 26 at 1:00pm
Where: Talkshoe.com

everyday parenting

2008-08-18T23:12:00.000-07:00

Rad dad 11 will be out in mid September, so get ready...

A few nights before Father's Day, we had a wonderful "celebrating parents" event at Book Zoo in Oakland, California. It was amazing to see so many kids running around, parents relaxing, and parent allies enjoying the stories the readers shared with the audience. We fantasized about doing a reading and softball game next year…

I have to share something. I feel like such a fake, a phony. Like I'm the last person who should be writing for a zine like rad dad. Let me explain. About a month before Mother's Day, Ariel Gore, editor and founder of Hip Mama, emailed me and asked if I'd be willing to read at their Mother's Day Extravaganza. I was honored; of course, I would. This is what I had been hoping for all along: recognition for rad dad in the radical parenting community and a chance to gain exposure for the zine and for all the amazing writers and stories I have had the chance to work with.

Nothing could stop me. I was now officially super rad dad editor.

And then my son's counselor called. He wasn't going to pass high school, she said, unless we did an intervention, unless we corrected his behavior. Now. Immediately. Tomas, she demanded, you gotta do something.

It seems I hadn't done enough. I had been harboring that fear all along. Had I let him down? Had I hid behind a veneer of trusting his "choices" when in reality I was just in denial, just at a loss for what to do? And instead of sitting with those questions, contemplating ways to approach him, I did the worst possible thing after hearing his counselor's pleas; I got hella angry with my son. Not a good approach, about as successful as parenting by denial. When I confronted him about his progress report, which for every class including PE was listed as F, he looked me straight in the eye and said: Don't worry dad; I got it under control. Like a cartoon, I looked down at the progress report: F, F, F, F, F and back up to him, down, back, down, back over and over again. Who was this kid?

Basically he's been a normal teenager. Yes, we've gone through some difficult teen years, the not coming home, the walking in after school drunk, the hoarding of every glass and bath towel in his room as if he were the only one who needed to drink or shower. But through these years, I've also seen glimpses of what he will become: the way kids look up to him and the way he gives them such respect, the times he connects with his sisters when he doesn't know we are listening in the next room, the way he plays with our pet chickens.

So how do I explain the situation he was in? Can a rad dad raise a high school failure? Not a dropout, mind you, but someone who failed his classes when many of his teachers bent over backwards for him. He was given opportunity after opportunity, second chance after second chance.

But it gets worse; as we get closer to my departure for what I'm thinking is my big coming out party, my day in the sun, his monthly court date arrives for his probation hearing. Oh, did I fail to mention also that he has been on probation for the past two years? Each time I take him to court, which, of course, is peopled with nothing but kids of color and blatantly class targeted, I can't help but get livid at my son as the Judge reads off: his attendance (I didn't know you could miss over 100 days in a semester), his straight Fs, his unfinished hours of community service, his failed drug tests. It just never ends, and I feel so angry that he hasn't dealt with it. Because one day the Judge is gonna do something, I warn him.

Well, just as I'm about to leave, that's what happens. My son is sentenced to Juvenile Hall for the weekend. My weekend. I just couldn't, and still can't, get over the irony; the universe must be trying to tell me something.

You can talk all you want about how you would like to parent, what you think is valuable, what the implications of your parental choices might be, but all that theory, all that shit, flies out the window when you're faced with the power and pain of parenting in the moment. You are on your own when they're hurt. When they're dealing with their disappointment in the world. Or in you. When they step further and further away from you. Moments like these aren't talked about in books or zines; there are no answers found by doing readings in front of other people or participating in Mother's Day Extravaganzas. In fact, all that stuff just seems silly. Instead, what you discover in those moments is your capacity to love unconditionally, to forgive and forget, to be gentle, to put things in perspective. But it's not easy; it's ugly and hard, and it hurts.

I finally decided to skip the event because too much was happening, but my partner convinced and reassured me that I should still go, that it would be alright, that staying was not gonna change what had happened. So come Friday morning before I'm supposed to fly to Portland and my son is supposed to check in to the Alameda County Juvenile facility (after school, of course), we meet up in my living room. I hug my boy goodbye. I tell him I love him, I trust him, I have faith in him even if the world doesn't seem to, even if he doesn't believe in himself, even unfortunately when I too often act like I don't.

I do. This is hard, I say. But you can do this. You can.

He nods his head, says thanks, and saunters off to school like it ain't no thang.

That weekend was a profound awakening in many ways for me (and for him, I believe); hearing his mother describe how they took him away, how she watched him being searched before they shut the doors behind him and also hearing inspiring stories of creating a free school in Portland, gathering with a ton of parents to share a little bit of rad dad with them, sharing my feelings of failure with old and new friends in the middle of the afternoon, considering how to expand rad dad into a larger format, more inclusive magazine, and finally flying home to hear stories of my babies' mama spending Mother's Day contentedly gardening with our daughters and eventually leaving to bring our son home from Juvie.

Parenting is so much more than something we should celebrate on a day or with an event, so much more than feeling good at times or bad. Or like a phony. Or like a failure. It's an adventure, it's unknowable, fluid, never static, ever evolving. It's work. And, it's what matters most. Happy parenting to everyone out there, holdin' it down and keeping it real.

I believe in you. I do.

This is hard at times. But we can do this. We can.

sf zine fest

2008-06-26T22:54:00.000-07:00

i'll be tabling with mk chavez, one of my favorite writers, at this years sf zine fest on july 19-20. i'll have the newest issue of rad dad as well as some of the few remaining copies of the last four issues. i'll also have some new fiction out, so if you're into zines, comics or crafts, check us out!

tomas

How to Reclaim Father's Day from Ties and Work

2008-06-14T10:05:00.001-07:00

The other night, we had a wonderful “celebrating parents” event at Book Zoo in Oakland, California. It was amazing to see so many kids running around, parents relaxing, and parent allies enjoying the stories the readers shared with the audience. We fantasized about doing a reading and softball game next year…..

One of the things I shared from rad dad 7 was a list of ways fathers (and others) can fight patriarchy. Feel free to add more things and I’ll include them in the next issue of rad dad…Here it is:

Things Fathers (or really anyone) can do to challenge Patriarchy

1. Remind yourself and others that parenting does not equal mothering.
2. Wear your baby in a sling.
3. Take your kids with you everywhere you can—grocery stores, errands, to your place of work, Sunday afternoon celebrations, meetings
4. Believe in other men’s ability to parent. Talk to other men about fathering.
5. Vocalize your support of breastfeeding moms
6. Consider being a stay at home dad.
7. Take any parent infant class you are interested in. Be proactive in your parenting.
8. Talk to your kids about gender, class, and racial privilege. Be proactive in addressing the subtle ways these things are taught to your kids.
9. Start a new dad’s group, one where you take the baby with you.
10. Volunteer to help set up child care in the organizations you are a part of.
11. Ask others, especially non-parents, to help. Be a parent ally!
12. Make a point to ask if there are changing tables in the men’s restrooms everywhere you go.
13. Fight gendered parental roles – make dinner, do the laundry, mop the floors, clean the bathroom, watch the kids.
14. Combat images of bumbling fathers in the media. Talk to your kids as you encounter these stereotypes ala “Daddy Day Care,” “Mr. Mom,” “The Pacifier,” “Big Daddy.”
15. And, of course, write for Rad Dad as well as create your own fathering/parenting projects. And invite others to participate.

Where Hope is Found -- Transgendered Fathering

2008-06-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

From the start I knew I was in trouble. I understood that there lurked a Pandora’s box waiting within the pages of rad dad that would ultimately have to be opened releasing, as the myth states, chaos and confusion into the safe easy gender dichotomy that defined men as fathers and women as mothers. But to extend the metaphor, opening that box would also release hope, release the belief that in the end despite the difficulties of walking this parental path, we will make it out alive.

In issue one, I joked about feeling excluded from the mama club at parks and playgrounds. I wrote: Damn my cock! Although I know cocks don’t always make men and men don’t always have cocks, but that’s an essay for another time. But issue after issue, I skirted that essay, avoided it; however, in each consecutive zine, it kept rearing its pretty little head: someone wrote an article exploring the relationship sperm donors have to their biological children. I also considered how my vasectomy changed my perception of myself as being able to “father.” So now what kind of man was I? Does biology make the man or the father? Absolutely not. I know this, but how to write about it, how to explore it; and of course what does challenging gender do to how we define fatherhood; one dad pondered how, as a bisexual father, he should discuss sexuality with his growing pre teen child? But finally a friend flat out told me: I love rad dad but you gotta talk about queer issues, about how fathering is constructed there?

I could hear the box opening, all those questions wanting to get out. Now my friend had volunteered to help me with the cover, and I immediately asked her if I could talk with her abut being a new mama, but finding herself by default in the position as father. Out in public people constantly spoke to her partner, the birth mother, and completely ignored her as she stood right there, clearly the “other” parent. How much of a fathering moment is that? The assumptions people make that if you’re not Mama, you don’t know about your child, his or her routines, his or her diet. Even though she identified as a woman, since she was not the breast-feeding birth mama, she was invisible, she was negligible, she was -- father. We talked about how her experience is similarly replicated across the queer community as queer parents grappled with the public perceptions of their parental roles and, perhaps even more intense, their own perceptions of themselves as parent.

One afternoon a few weeks later, we met with another person who is a transgendered man, and specifically Papa to his near two-year-old daughter. Our conversation that afternoon was a reminder to me, O.G. Papi that I am, what it’s like to be around new parents, little babies, the glowing exuberance, the love, the concern, the hope. We all traded stories about each of us feeling excluded by the connections moms created with the baby. We all shared fears of inadequacy when our child wanted to be soothed by the mom in times of need and not us. We all discussed how we tried to challenge the gender sanctified responsibilities of dads by offering to watch the baby as often as we could allowing mom to stay connected to her life outside of parenting.

It was one of those afternoons that reminded me how amazing having children and, perhaps more importantly, having community to talk about children is. I learned how parenting is so disconnected from gender when it comes down to it. I saw instead how parenting is grounded in love and nurturing and dialog and commitment. I learned that queer couples’ parental intentions force them to contemplate the meaning of parenting so much more deliberately than parents who have a child by “accident.” I learned how gender is institutionally reinforced by making the non-birth parent have to legally adopt his or her child, which requires in home visitations and hella money. A “biological father” doesn’t have to do that. I learned about the word “gaybies.”

But as engaging an afternoon as it was, the reality is that gender happens. Socially and institutionally, gender is enforced, sometimes subtly and sometimes violently. And it will take more than an afternoon’s conversation to change things but it’s a start. And I’m hoping rad dad can also be a part of that conversation. We need to reflect on what we do as parents, on how we support other parents. Working on rad dad, forcing myself to confront issues around my identity, my politics, my parenting has been one of the most difficult tasks I have done. I have fought against it, resented things I discovered, my internalized sexism, my gender privilege; but it has also inspired me, allowed me to love more openly, more honestly. Despite the chaos and confusion analyzing gender might cause in ourselves and our families (and our zines), there is also hope: hope in asking tough questions, hope in challenging each other and our assumptions, hope in the struggle.

So tell me about your hope. Perhaps your hope is found in your community, in those around you. Perhaps it is embodied in the partner you’re committed to and the family you dream of making together. Or perhaps your hope is something else, something smaller, something more immediate, something you wake at three in the morning to rock back to sleep, something you sing songs to; the hope in those moments of love and caring is powerful.

Send in your stories of what it’s like to be a transgendered parent, a queer parent, a queer ally and a parent. This the beginning, the first baby steps on a much longer journey towards redefining fatherhood, parenting even, an attempt at understanding, at support, at ultimately creating communities between all of us parents, parent allies, mamas, papas and all those in between and outside of and a little bit a both.

Baby Daddy

2008-05-06T22:34:00.000-07:00

So I’m watching the movie Baby Mama which I have to say was hella funny and horrifying at the same time. I was expecting though the requisite number of jokes about how pathetic fathers are but for the most part they weren’t there. In fact, at the end of the film there is this scene at which all three dads were there: one wearing a baby in a sling, all laughing with their child, nurturing their child. I was momentarily stunned. But, hey, times can change and even Hollywood comedies about parenthood can challenge (however weakly) some stereotypes. But it finally came: one dad does give his 1 yr old daughter a motorized pocket motorcycle. Yes, I laughed out loud.

However, this has been what I’ve been struggling with lately. How to challenge gender prescribed roles of fathering. How popular culture reinforces traditional gender roles about bad dads and their inept parenting abilities. And right about the time, Jennifer Margulis contacted me about reviewing the book The Baby Bonding Book for Dads.

Sure, I said. Anything that connects fathering to nurturing and babies, that equates men with the ability to offer support, to handle a crying baby, to discover themselves through the act of parenting, is something I want to support.

I eagerly agreed and waited for the book to arrive in the mail. When it did, I sat with my two youngest daughters and flipped through it. Of course the baby peeing in the air was wonderful, and we wondered how many times they tried to take that picture. My daughter asked if the man got paid to get peed on. Good question? Yes, unfortunately some of my preteen bonding techniques involve really bad comedies like Baby Mama. And I wonder where my daughter gets her crude sense of humor? Hmmm.

But peeing aside, I like the book. I think any new father would appreciate a book so clearly based in loving your child, in the beauty and power of becoming a father..

I did have three concerns that are really issues I have with many of the parenting resources out there, issues, I’ll be honest, I have with my own project rad dad. My main concern is how the tone of the book seems to assume that the standard or normal fatherhood mentality is one grounded in patriarchally defined gendered roles. Somehow I want to think that today’s dads are beyond thinking that they have no real place in their kids’ lives until they are able to play ball. Do many men still equate cooking dinner for their kids as something too close to domesticity? Would most men really rather plop down in front of the TV, drink in hand, than go out for a hike? Don’t get me wrong; I’ll be the first one to act the fool during a big time Raiders game, but I’m not sure that I’d rather do that than spend quality time with my family and/or community. And I don’t think most men would either.

A smaller issue, but one that is important to me as a reader, is the voice of the narrative. I kinda wished they wrote as a mom and dad? I wanted to see the variations in the voices, to see them work things out on the page, back and forth between each other, as mom, as dad. Instead I felt the book had a slightly detached, impersonal tone to it, as if they were trying to speak to all parents rather than as parents.

I loved the all pictures (not just the peeing one), but as usual I wanted to see more diversity than the three or four pictures out of the thirty or so ones in the book. Too often it seems to me parenting is seen as a white experience when clearly and obviously it is not.

But having said those issues, I loved some of the things they say especially the idea of taking your baby with you everywhere you go. How often do women take their kids to errands, to work, to the store or bank. I love that they encourage fathers to do the same, to be seen publicly as fathers. We need to see that more often.

I love the notion of getting naked with the baby. It is so true that nothing is as wonderful has skin on skin with your newborn.

And the recommendation to carry your baby in a sling. So true.

I can’t say enough about how important it is that the notion of discipline was absent from the book! Thank you.

Finally, the chapter on comforting was wonderful, was so important I wish it was even more prominent. Men can comfort, men can sooth, men can parent, even though yes sometimes they buy dumb presents that are more about them than their kids.

As a twenty one year old dad with a newborn, I would have loved this book. As a thirty seven year old, I’d love a book on how to bond with your seventeen year old child. When’s that one coming out?

i love it when you call me big papa

2008-04-29T22:59:00.001-07:00

Reclaim Father's Day

come celebrate transgressive parenting: readings on the pleasures, pains, and politics of parenting (or being parented)

open mic

hosted by tomas
editor / writer of rad dad
and the good folks at book zoo

7:30 pm

parents of all persuasions and genders welcome to attend and read!

Thursday
June 12th

Kid Friendly

BOOK ZOO
6395 Telegraph Ave
at Alcatraz Ave
Oakland California
(510) 654 - BOOK

the official announcement

2008-03-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

Radical Parent Writer-Zine-Friends Together at Last:
Joybringer, My Mother Wears Combat Boots, Rad Dad, The Future Generation!

Wednesday, March 19th, 7 pm @ AK Press Warehouse, 674-A 23rd. St Oakland, CA:
Book reading event with China Martens, The Future Generation: A Zine-Book For Subculture Parents, Kids, Friends & Others (Atomic Books Company) and and Jessica Mills, My Mother Wears Combat Boots (AK Press). For more info contact: AK Press at 510.208.1700 or visit www.akpress.org

Thursday, March 20, 6:00 PM @ Modern Times Books, 888 Valencia Street, San Francisco
What does it mean to be a radical parent in these times? Join these anarchist parents and authors of Rahula Janowski , Joybringer; China Martens, The Future Generation; Jessica Mills, My Mother Wears Combat Boots; and Tomas Moniz, rad dad for a reading and a discussion.

Saturday and Sunday March 22-23, @ 13th Annual Bay Area Anarchist Book Fair, County Fair Building in Golden Gate Park, Ninth Avenue and Lincoln Way, SF, http://sfbookfair.wordpress.com/
Check out our zines and books!

Sunday March 23rd, 12:00 – 12:50 @ Anarchist Book Fair:
PANEL DISCUSSION - Anarchist Parents / Building an All Ages Community of Resistance
Anarchism challenges us to create personal and social change but often provides no support for mothers, fathers, and other caretakers of children who try to do so. Let’s learn how to work together in new ways. By valuing the involvement/work of parents and caretakers, we form a more vibrant culture of resistance; and we teach the young the vision we want to see of a more equitable future by including them in our activities now. This will be a discussion between both parents and non-parents, on concrete ways child-free allies can support parents and children in their community. Good for everyone!

Co-presented by:

Rahula Janowski is an anarchist, anti-racist white mama living and raising her child collectively in San Francisco. Her zine Joybringer is about politics, parenting, and the places where they intersect.

China Martens, a single mother of a 20-year-old, is the author of The Future Generation: A Zine-Book For Subculture Parents, Kids, Friends & Others (Atomic Books Company) and the coordinator of Kidz Corner @ the Radical Mid-Atlantic Book fair in Baltimore. (Baltimore, Maryland) myspace.com/chinamartens

Jessica Mills, a partnered mother of two, is the author of My Mother Wears Combat Boots (AK Press 2007) and the monthly MRR column of the same title. (Albuquerque, New Mexico) mymotherwearscombatboots.blogspot.com

Tomas Moniz is living, writing, teaching, loving, fighting, and parenting three awesome children 17, 12, 10 in California’s East Bay. He works on rad dad zine. raddadzine.blogspot.com

book review

2007-11-24T14:46:00.000-08:00

i just wanted everyone to know that a good friend's new book just came out and i have it in my greedy little hands and it is wonderful -- i was so inspired by the how to aspects of the book -- how to set up a child-swap collective and even how to set up a freeskool

it's called my mother wears combat boots

i highly recommend it!

who's your daddy?

2007-11-12T10:10:00.001-08:00

Hello -- it's been a while since I posted, and since rad dad 8 is taking shape, I thought I’d post something from rad dad 7 as a way to say, "hey come on, I know you all got something to say, so say it -- write for rad dad 8!"

It’s been so difficult to get father's to write birth stories! In fact, I received no birth stories, so I’d love to get someone to write one for this issue out at the end of November.

Also I really like Jeremy's post about his own blog "where we are writing from." It reminded me why I enjoy writing about all this craziness called fathering. This piece is about how fatherhood gets represented in the media, and well I apologize in advance for the tone; it's a bit much but I tried...

Tomas

Some of you may know this about me, but for those of you who don't, let me just spill the beans: I am a media whore! I'll be the first one to own up to my obsession with romantic comedies, with horribly bad TV dramas, with power ballads; in fact, I can identify the various stages or periods of numerous cultural pop icons—there's the Hugh Grant evolution pre or post his blowjob bust, there's the musician turned actor careers of J-Lo, Justin, and a slew of others. There's the progression of TV shows to the big screen…you get the picture.

However, I also consider myself an astute critic, ready to recognize gender stereotypes, to point out class issues, to call out racist tropes; my favorite is Justin Timberlake himself. How the fuck can Justin bring sexy back when it never went anywhere? What a perfect example of white entitlement? But I was kinda shocked the other day when my daughter said something that made me laugh but soon started gnawing at me like one of them zombies in Evil Dead.

"Dad, you should be in a TV show," Ella said innocently, and then of course added, "with your belly and your dog and you always making chili."

"Hey, don't be saying nothing about my mean vegan chili!" I replied.

And we went on to the next subject. However, the next day I was working on an essay about how men can challenge patriarchy, and I was bouncing ideas off my Official-Idea-Bouncer-Offer Andrea, and we came up with the idea of exploring stereotypes about fathers. It clicked; Ella was putting me into the category of so many images she has seen of how this society views fathers. Why had I never seen it before? But wait a second here, I'm no stereotype. Ella knows that…right? Perhaps though I hadn't noticed because even while I adamantly disagree with these images of fathering, I may in fact benefit from them, even play into them? I began to think back to early parenting roles my partner and I fell into. Most of the time we clearly processed who did what and why, what felt fair, and when we felt overwhelmed or overburdened. But it's true; I almost always would watch the kids while she would cook. And then I'd clean the dishes. How often did I mop or do some other big house-cleaning project while she took the kids to the park? Looking back on those first few years, not as often as would like to admit.

And when I was in public with my son, I remember the constant reproaches from usually older grandmotherly women about the way I held my baby, the way he was so damn dirty or the way I dressed him, especially my keen ability to never have socks on my kid's feet. But hey, who can keep track of socks, I argued. With all the advice and suggestions and snide looks I received, I often marvelled at what I was doing, particularly because I didn't have that many male role models to fall back on. Was I really that weird, that unmanly, that lucky to be able to parent my kids and keep them alive or at least warm?

We need to ask ourselves why so many in our society don't trust men to be competent at parenting, to be trusted to handle a newborn without being watched over by the mother or the grandmother. And a good place to start would be to start questioning the images of bumbling fathers we're inundated with. It is the butt of our parenting jokes: men fucking up, dressing kids, trying to feed kids, trying to be both macho and cool, because parenting in our society equals mothering. Not fathering or fathers. And is not cool.

So I decided to do a little investigative research: how are dads represented in the media? It took me only like five seconds to come up with a slew of movies all reinforcing the loving but clearly not primary parent material father: Daddy Daycare, and the new sequel coming out Daddy Day Camp, the Ice Cube movies, the Adam Sandler movies, it just goes on and on. Or there's the action adventure movies in which you threaten a Real Man's family and then you'll see what Real Fathers are like—you know the male protector/patriarch and all.

But it has gotten even worse now as parenting has become a trend with more pop icons having babies because with celebrity comes a market for cool hip parenting stuff. Sure enough, along with designer sippy cups and bibs, there has been a bunch of new books on fathering. And they all seem to have one common premise, which is how to maintain gender privilege, those traditional notions of men and masculinity, and still parent; how to be that cool dad, that hip dad, that (gulp) rad dad.

So I decided to read one and peruse a few others. I chose Alternadad by Neal Pollack because it was in my library. For a taste of some others, I moseyed on into a bookstore and, as I am walking through the aisle, I see the new GQ and pick it up (yes, because it had Jessica Alba on the cover). I kid you not, but I flip it open and come to a spread of nine famous fathers all dressed up with their kids. The headline was something like: How to Still Dress like a Winner When You Have Kids. Because of course kids make you a loser, make you so not stylish, ruin your cool life (assuming of course that the point of life is to be cool). I was shocked and turned to go find the other books when I saw Parents Press' new issue, the only free parenting newspaper in the baby area, and what is one the cover, I kid you not, but the picture of a new daddy book by some pop-punk rock singer and his three kids.

Aghhhhh!

Now there is nothing wrong with being interested in fashion, with telling your story, with connecting punk rock and parenting (in fact that can be a key politicizing event for parents; check out China Martens' new book The Future Generation: The Zine-Book for Subculture Parents, Kids, Friends and Others) but something seems so disingenuous, so exploitive, so apolitical about these books. As if fathering is simply a trend.

Low and behold, as I move into the kids section they had a little display of other papa books seeing as how Father's Day was coming up (because that's the only time fathers ever speak up about parenting and it's all about being fucking cool anyways). I'll be the first one to tell you never judge a book by a cover, but I actually did in fact judge the store by their display. There were five books in the Celebrate Fathers floor display: Alternadad, Punk Rock Dad: No Rules, Just Real Life by Jim Lindberg, Dadditude: How a Real Man Became a Real Dad by Philip Lerman, and Dinner With Dad: How I Found My Way Back to the Family Table. All by white men. All by very upper middle class white men. All by upper middle class, white men with wives at home. Wow. After I mention this to the children's section coordinator, she was aghast and immediately put out a Bill Cosby book!? Somehow I felt too bummed to do anything else.

So I grabbed the books and set out to skim them as best I could. Now I will admit that most of them brought up interesting points about struggling with discipline, creating honest lines of communication, trying to maintain a healthy relationship with a partner. So I want to acknowledge that their stories are worth sharing, that I did smile at times, despite my best intentions, that I did nod my head in agreement with their struggles, that I did find connection with some of their points. But as I said they were just so similar, so privileged, with no mention of race or recognition of class differences or anything substantive outside of individual family struggles, which of course are extremely important.

However, there is not much to say for the book about making a yearlong commitment to, and I kid you not, come home at least six days a week to help make dinner with his family. See, men, we should make such a huge, committed, life-changing commitment to actually spend time with our families. His conclusion—it really changes your relationship with your family. Do people really buy these books? Ah, but cynicism is never revolutionary I remind myself, so let me take the plunge and actually read a whole fathering book.

After a month of toting it around, it became overdue and I had read only about half of Alternadad and felt like I couldn't finish it. But knew I had to. To his credit he is hella funny, and we connect as I think all parents do on the issues of poop. He relished it like a true veteran and told some very funny stories. However, Alternadad, like the other books, is just another one of those cynical, nauseatingly self-justifying stories of how a once-privileged white male aware of the issues around him chose to forgo all political and systemic critique in the wake of becoming a dad. Pre-parenthood, he always lived in neighborhoods in the edgy parts of town or places where cars had booming bass, which, of course, 'booming bass' is code word for 'young male of color,' but as a father, he's not so sure. When it comes down to it, he'd rather opt for white flight than stay in shitty neighborhoods because he can leave. He has that privilege to pack up and move cross country. Yes, he loves his neighbors, but he just wants things safer, calmer, cleaner. He knows he doesn't belong there. He ends the book with a story of enrolling his son in a hippie/hipster daycare and celebrates moving to Los Angeles because of the last straw in his old neighborhood in Austin: four youths spray painting Vatos Locos in his neighborhood. Ah, people of color again; I hope he knows they are in LA too.

Okay, I know I'm being too mean, too sensitive perhaps. And in the end I realize it actually is very important to have books out there about fathering. But man do we need other stories, other views, other perspectives about fathering that go beyond the stereotypes we see in the media all the time: the bumbling fools, reformed womanizers, and amazed businessmen about how fun being a daddy can be, golly.

So from books to TV to films, I still haven't changed my wicked ways and will probably be the first to see Transformers on my block, but I will also no longer allow the parenting/father stereotype to go by unchecked. Adam Sandler better watch out! Perhaps one day a few other fathers and I can write a script for a movie about ordinary dads from various backgrounds and ethnicities trying to parent in conscientious ways who, en route to a fun camping trip in the woods of Califas, get lost and end up in the vile clutches of the mean patriarch called Walt and are forced to rely on wits, trust, and patience to foil his plot at global domination and destroy his nefarious, dangerous alternate world called Disneyland…hmmm someday.

sf zine fest

2007-09-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

i'll have a table at the sf zine fest oct 6 and 7th -- come on a stop by...

tomas

a review of rad dad 7

2007-09-28T23:12:00.000-07:00

from microcosm publishing:

Rad Dad #7 is a response to the latest trend: Fatherhood. Or rather, the new spin on fatherhood in America. If you haven't noticed, everywhere you turn there are books, magazines, movies, and news programs, all about being a hip dad. The problem is that they all come from the same perspective. White middle class men who've had to find a balance between their wild, cool ways, and the "un-cool" job of parenting. In this issue, Tomas expresses his views on the subject, and reminds us that parenting isn't just an unwanted obligation. Or at least, it shouldn't be. He reviews some "cool-dad" books, like "Alternadad," and "Punk Rock Dad," written by the singer of Pennywise (which we read here at HQ, and yes, it really is that bad). And of course there are solid contributor pieces about Green Parenting, being Jewish, and the transition from pre-teen into full-fledged teenager.

utne review on their website

2007-08-18T14:31:00.000-07:00

Rad Dad "is not cool," according to founder and publisher Tomas. "[I]t's not about being hip, not about trying to be in style... Rad Dad is for radical parenting. The uncomfortable kind." And so the zine's seventh issue picks up where previous ones left off: by interrogating and reevaluating the role of fathers in radical politics. Articles range from "Green Parenting," in which writer Sky looks at the relationship between anarchism and parenting, to "On Being Jewish," in which Bruce contemplates the religious example he wants to set for his child. A contribution from Tomas himself -- "Who's Your Daddy: Fathers in Pop Culture" -- offers a forceful critique of how "cool parenting" has become an apolitical and upper-middle class trend that reinforces "dad" stereotypes. -- Eric Kelsey

gangsta father

2007-07-08T12:32:00.000-07:00

the intro from rad dad 7 -- out this week

rad dad is not cool; it’s not about being hip, not about trying to be in style, not a trend. rad dad is for radical parenting. The uncomfortable kind. The difficult kind. Radical as in not complacent, as in conscious and conscientious of our impact on our children, our partners, our environment. Radical as in taking responsibility for the privileges some of us have, whether we want those privileges or not. Radical as in being cognizant of how we challenge patriarchy (or not), how we participate in capitalism, how we depend on unquestioned roles of authority and hierarchy. And then, radical as in having the courage to consider ways of changing these aspects of fathering.

Lately I’ve seen numerous new books or web sites that clearly are trying to profit off of or benefit from or create a market for hip fathering, talking about how men can still remain men (whatever that means) and be a cool dad as well. What so many of these books or sites lack is a social critique, an understanding that for so long fathering has been intimately connected to patriarchy, to violence, to capitalism. Unless we as fathers do something to change that, no amount of coolness, no amount of humor, no amount of hip papa clothes can cover it. So my new mantra: We need radical change, not radical baby accessories.

For me rad dad is about reaching out to community. It’s not a place to provide excuses for some of the fucked up ways fathering is manifested by some men in our society nor about absolving ourselves of our complicity in the ugly history of Traditional Fathering. We gotta own up to it. And that’s why I know I need other radical parents, both mamas and papas, to help me see how I am caught up in this history. Especially when I’m unaware of it. I need them to show me how myths of fathering are perpetuated in the media or to help me see when fathering is being used as a marketing ploy or is being packaged for consumer convenience.

rad dad for me is recognizing how I need help. I can’t do it alone because I already know I’m a sucker; I’m a fool. I laugh like hell during Shrek and his silliness, and my kids love him, so he’s gotta be a good model for fathering, right? And I’ll admit I’m the first one at the bar getting all stupid when the Warriors were in the playoffs. Don’t get me wrong. We as people can and should have our own interests outside of parenting, enjoy the company of other adults in places that perhaps aren’t super kid friendly. But we are straight up wrong if we think that the word father means to be cool, to be part time, or that it’s temporal, ending when we are not with our kids, or that it’s limited to the realm of the house.

I want the word father to mean: warrior, to be synonymous with dedicated; I want it to be analogous to activist, environmentalist, feminist, gangsta, anarchist. I want people to step back when we announce we’re fathers and that we’re here and we ain’t leaving until some things change.

Starting with ourselves.

rad dad is as much about radical parenting as it is about fighting patriarchy in all aspects of our society. I believe actually that to reclaim fathering, it will be contingent upon men to work diligently for equal access and rights for women in the world outside parenting. We can’t expect to be equal partners in parenting and not have women be equal partners in the rest of society. To reclaim fathering we will need to reconsider intimately what it means to be successful and how capitalist notions of success are tied to the construction of male identity. To reclaim fathering we will need to question the social stereotypes of fathering that for so long have been used to justify gender specific parental roles.

Now I also wanna recognize that how we individually manifest our parenting and our relationships is up to us. There is nothing inherently wrong with a man providing the main income for a family and a woman being the primary caretaker. But it needs to be transparent, needs to be a choice and not the default. Fathers need to actively consider what might be the underlying reasons for their decisions about how they father and what they give priority to.

And, most importantly, fathers will need to actively, vocally, publicly support and speak up for other fathers.

So let me give a shout out to the amazing fathers and mothers and other parental allies that I had the pleasure to meet and depend on as I ventured out on the Kerbloom/rad dad speaking tour of the Pacific Northwest. It was so inspiring to realize that there are people I can call up and say, I need a place to stay or can you help me out or come to our event, and they are there lending you a pillow, offering what they can, bringing their kids and neighbors to see you read. So that is what rad dad is about, what Kerbloom is about, what creating radical community is all about. There are so many people doing so many different, cool things that every time I feel slightly exhausted or overwhelmed, I just need to look around me or think of those that have helped me, and feel reinspired, rejuvenated. You all rock.

we're zine of the month....

2007-05-10T21:54:00.000-07:00

May zine of the month at Broken Pencil

rad dad

by tomas moniz, zine, $3 plus postage, tom_moniz@riseup.net 1636 Fairview St., Berkley, CA, USA 94703

Thoughtful, well-written articles on "radical" fathering, tackling an array of issues, from colick to children's questions of identity. While the authors bring their diverse politics to the table, they make a sincere effort to connect those politics to the dynamic reality of raising a child... you're not getting a tract about how things would ideally be in a utopian future, but how things ARE in this moment, honestly.

An article by tomas is a highlight--he writes about his daughter and her negative thoughts about being a mixed-race person of colour, and poses questions to himself about how he can encourage her to value all aspects of her identity yet respect her autonomy to make choices about her identity that may differ from his. A supportive read for all the parents out there meshing parenthood with their politics, and a little window on the wild world of raising another person, for those of us on the outside looking in.

By Sarah Pinder

rad dad review in slingshot

2007-04-21T09:47:00.000-07:00

zine Review Rad Dad #6 from slingshot
Reviewed by Hefty Lefty
      Rad Dad is a thrice yearly zine on radical fathering put together by
Tomas Moniz. If radical politics and living in ways that are critical
of white-supremacy, capitalism and patriarchy are to be more than just
a phase passed through by young people who have yet to burn out and
buy in, then it is important to consider how radicals can collectively
support each other throughout [all seasons of life]. I am not a parent
and don't see myself becoming one in the near future, however I do
find it helpful to think about how I interact with children and
friends who are parents. Most of us will become involved in a child's
life at some point either as a mom or dad, uncle or aunt, housemate or
friend. It is easy to for radical people, who are often [socialized so
badly], to interact with kids in [messed up] ways, especially if they
haven't reflected on the ways that their politics can inform their
interactions with kids and parents. Writings and conversations about
radical parenting consistently give me things to think about.
Publications that specifically address the concerns of radical men who
are raising kids are valuable because of the way that [society often
attributes nurturing… to women and mothers] It is telling that the
verb 'to mother' evokes an image of active (if not always flattering)
parenting while the verb 'to father' tends to connote a momentary act
without any [necessary] connection to the object fathered. Rad Dad
offers a place for people of all genders to think about issues that
effect parents and here them articulated by men who are often trying
to take a more active role in parenting than was expected of their
fathers and grandfathers.
      One of the things I like most about Rad Dad is the way that it
expresses struggles and tensions rather than solutions. Tomas, who
generally contributes 2-3 pieces to the zine each issue, does not set
himself up as an authority on radical parenting so much as share, in a
very personal way, some of the struggles he has raising three people
in a [broken world-messed up world]. His pieces have dealt with
pornography and drug use; how to watch his children navigate the
racism and sexism of the system while giving them the space to make
mistakes, or even just make choices that are different from the ones
he would make. The other contributors bring in different voices of men
raising kids; struggling to exist in a radical scene that is hostile
to parents or a parenting scene that is hostile to radicals, dealing
with colic in infants and questioning the conventional wisdom of
punishments and rewards, being a gay uncle/sperm donor or a dad who
didn't happen to donate sperm. Rad Dad also frequently includes lists
of resources for radical parents, from message boards to children's
books.
      Issue number 6 showcases another stunning letterpress printed cover
by artnoose which substantially adds to the visual appeal of the zine.
The theme for this issue is anger and frustration. Tomas starts of
with a personal introduction about how he has been angry a lot lately
and butting heads with his son, and about acknowledging that anger but
not letting it overwhelm all of the other things he is feeling. This
is followed by  selections from a message board of men who are
dealing/have dealt with frustration at toddlers are able to share
stories  and give each other support. Chip writes about how he
struggles with fears of becoming the 'angry guy' his father was as he
interacts with his teenage daughter. Several other contributions
follow and Tomas concludes with a piece about how his own father was
often unable to communicate the his love, and that learning from his
father in retrospect and doing Rad Dad makes Tomas hopeful about his
own efforts to show his children his love. There are no answers in Rad
Dad, only the wisdom that comes from sharing struggles for back issues
at $3+postage contact tom_moniz@riseup.net. If you are in berkeley,
you can find copies at  local bookstores and info shops [Pegasus, Long
Haul, etc] Rad Dad 7 is due out in July.

oester and our final kick ass reading

2007-04-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

so here are some pics of the egg hunt and well we are coming back tomorrow

see ya all soon

and our roadies introduce us

2007-04-07T23:40:00.000-07:00

that's right clover and zora stood in front of 10 people and said .........um..........like..........um.......artnoose does letterpress...........tom does parenting.........um we heard so many times we can copy them..............um bye

they were the best part of the show

somewhere in northwestern washington

2007-04-07T12:24:00.000-07:00

so we had our second night off in eight nights -- it was so beautiful outside we laid in the road and watched the stars move then sat around with sky and hannah and had tea and told stories -- the best thing has been the time i've spent with the girls, with artnoose and with meeting so many people who have been willing to put us up, feed us, make us feel so welcome

we have two more shows and then were home

we're beginning to feel that pull, like a rubber band, of our place calling us

soon

tomas

new pics

2007-04-07T12:22:00.000-07:00

see they do more than eat candy and donuts

2007-04-06T23:39:00.000-07:00

new pics

2007-04-06T09:13:00.000-07:00

pics

2007-04-03T23:36:00.000-07:00

vancouver

2007-04-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

so the country is so beautiful and the city is very big -- there is a lot of poverty and clearly hard times down in the area we were in for most of the day. we walked through downtown, played soccer, laid in the grass, had coffee then our reading, it was a bit of a serious crowd -- no one had seen dumb and dumber in the audience -- can you trust someone without that cultural reference..

and i heard 'eh' a lot -- there are some really cool amazing people though -- the creaters of baby block, and the person who is sharing their house with us -- it's nice to be out of the us...

pics

2007-04-03T15:32:00.000-07:00

seattle, babies, new readings, and loonies

2007-04-03T15:27:00.000-07:00

ok so a quick recap -- i read 4 new pieces esp because jessica and her wonderful family came to both nights so i was forced to improvise and i think it was the best readings yet -- the kids had a great time playing with emmajoy and mayaray, soccer, food, stories, they were a little tired the evening of left bank books because it was soooo nice and we were all so lazy -- then zora fell off a piece of modern art in the park crying for help -- clover and i just zoned it out

seattle is beautiful -- i think it's my new fav place besides the bay

ok off to lay on a couch and read

here's the magic

2007-04-01T09:26:00.000-07:00

cars and rain and garage soccer and pizza

2007-03-31T22:52:00.000-07:00

lots of driving -- 8 hours from arcata to portland but it was lots of fun chilling with the girls, stumping artnoose with two questions: what's zip from zip code mean?

the reading was good -- met kate from miranda zine and her partner who wrote for rad dad 3 and another father with 3 boys

it was my best reading yet -- calm, interacted with the audience, zora and clover sold zines

artnoose was her typical amazing self even when clover the disturber we call her now made a squeaky sound with a kiddy toy

and had vegan donuts that rocked!

day one -- dead birds

2007-03-30T23:32:00.000-07:00

Our first day was a blast…we killed a bird with our car (horrible), had lunch in the redwoods and discovered a miniature cave of baby dank trees, saw artnoose become AJ Foyt for mini-van drivers, rescued clover from the clutches of the Arcata swamp, made spaghetti, went to our reading and discovered we were the opening act to a band called eleven eyes, and while they were setting up clover spilled an experimental coconut crappy Italian soda with half and half on the floor, met a scrabble player who was from Berkeley. Then the reading. Tom read after artnooses intro to two rapt listeners and a few other random audience people. Artnoose continued to rock the house; we then went to Lynn’s studio and ran into a fox decapitating a seagull that he had been eating. Zora and clover and artnoose took pics while tom ran away….

See ya in Portland

……………………………..we ate some disgusting raspberry treats…………*other people liked em*

after wards we came home and watched some simpsons’s and enjoyed our 3rd dessert session

first thoughts about our trip

2007-03-27T16:41:00.000-07:00

um................R we(clover & i (ZORA***) gonna miss our easta baskets on the trip.............this stuff is bizzar..........clovers here
.........TEE HEE...............GIGGLE..............CACKLE...............LAUGH..............ROAR
BYE.......

rad dad # 6 -- where my boys at

2007-01-27T17:18:00.000-08:00

Hello – once it again it’s time to put aside the crazy amount of work all of us are doing and perhaps consider doing a little something for rad dad 6. It’s gonna be our biggest one yet, and it’ll be part of a rad dad speaking tour my daughter, her best friend, artnoose of kerbloom! fame and I are going to do during the first 10 days of April. So I’ll be personally delivering copies of it up the coast to Canada…

I’m also considering new ways rad dad might grow and would love to hear ideas from others on directions or experiences with something like this.

As for submissions: really anything that deals with fathering from a feminist, anti-authoritarian, radical bent; sounds more ideological than it is: could be a birth story, could explore how fathering changes our identity or could explore notions of masculinity, or how fathering affects our relationships, our sexuality, how it is a political act, how it alters notions of activism, thoughts on discipline, schooling, gender...

As you can see the topic can easily fit the context of individual writers, drawers, photographers…So we need writers, buyers, distributors, and suggestions for thing we haven’t considered before.

I’d like to have it ready by mid-march.

Remember to come see us if we are in your neck of the woods in April – stay tuned for more info as it becomes settled.

See you in the playgrounds…

tomas moniz
editor and writer
rad dad zine

http://raddadzine.blogspot.com/
tom_moniz@riseup.net

system error

2007-01-20T17:29:00.001-08:00

This is an essay from the latest issue of boxcutter:

Going through her eleven year old's new Christmas purse, Andee exclaims that the entire thing is filled with nothing but technological devices: two tamagotchis, one ipod nano, one nintendo ds, one digital camera, one piggy flashlight, and a game holder with three different games. All of us sitting with her kinda laughed and snickered about `these kids these days,' shaking our heads. `Why do they want all this stuff,' we wondered, but soon we fell eerily silent: three sets of parents, three minds realizing how our kids' worlds are just so different than ours was. For example, my kids all wanted technology for christmas, and my partner and I at first balked, thinking we were gonna give them only books and do-it-yourself science toys; you know Good Toys, but soon we gave way to pleas about what all the other kids were gonna get, and we found ourselves saying, `we might as well just buy them what they want, if we're gonna get them anything at all.' Right? What would you do?

So there we were christmas morning, and under the tree appeared so barren, looked so empty because all the presents were in these little boxes; it looked like they barely got any presents. It seemed so pathetic. By the time we got up, got coffee, got to the sofa, they made these tiny piles in front of them. I suddenly got all worried that they didn't get enough. Perhaps though we were the pathetic ones, so caught up in wanting our kids to be happy, to feel loved, to be satisfied. Because presents do that, right? Why on earth do we bother to give presents at all? I hate it. Not just with kids. I was stressing out trying to find things for the adults in my life. How did I get like this: I, who make things. I, who think of myself as so creative, so anti-corporate -- rushing around the day before christmas, so worried that my lover would not like her jacket or if I spent enough on my partner for fear she spent more. And there sat my kids' little frilly boxes underneath the tree. The only thing that saved the apparent lack of presents was the two gifts I bought basically for myself but wrapped anyway -- a basketball and a board game.

This is a panic created by consumerism and technology, but what should we have done? What would you have done? How to fight it when everyone around you especially your kids is so in to it, is so content to participate in our crazy, self destructive culture? It's easy to blame the youth of today but that is wrong. As for technology, this is what they know; it's not the way we grew up, wanting all these little devices. Were there any devices when we were kids? Yes, walkmans, and soon pagers, but did kids want them like they want a cell phone? So do we just say no to anything because it wasn't the way we experienced childhood (I mean who back then could walk around with an Atari and play it on the bart). We live in a different world. Take myspace which seems the utmost in prefabricated realities where you get a list of a hundred or so friends most of whom you don't know; I immediately want to hate on it, but I also realize that in this world of constant surveillance and monitoring, with a lack of public space to hang out in, without getting hassled, watched, where can kids turn to to reclaim there own autonomy: yep, cyberspace. It may be owned by Rupert Murdoch but it is something that they can create, control, invent, talk smack in, try to foster an identity.

So I try to relax while they rip open their presents; as they each squeal and laugh and scream and shout thank yous, I inwardly smile. A few hours later after the techno stuff is pushed to the side, after the cyber pets are sleeping in their little cyber houses, and the music is turned off because the battery needs to be charged, my daughter asks, `what's this game like?' Soon we are all sitting around playing and laughing together.

And then I opened my other present: the basketball and at the end of the day we all stepped out into the street and played with a ball, a real ball, and with our real dog, and we laughed and got angry and teased each other and had a great old time as the sun set on our real lives. Next year though I promise to do something different.

If you need some game suggestions these games have all been played and enjoyed for hours with our neighbors and friends -- get them because they don’t need batteries:

Dominos -- I got my ass spanked by a student in my english class a few semesters ago and have been wanting a rematch ever since, so when my son and I traveled into the jungle of mexico all we brought were books and a set of dominos -- we had monster games, created new slang for ridiculous decisions we made while we both learned to play. It has been a continued source of pleasure to set up and play in our house. It lasts for about 30 - 45 mins...it's cheep to buy, easy to bring along, and perfect for talkin all kinda smack. Oh and I still lost the rematch...

Gobblet – This is an awesome looking game as well – made of wood and really easily set up and stored. It is like a crazy tic-tac-toe and connect four love child. The object is to get four in a row and you can gobble your opponent in the process. Hella fun and good for all ages and easy to learn.

Blokus – It’s a perfect way to kill an extra 20 minutes between cooking dinner and eating or after bath and before bed. Four people can play and as you get to know it more, you can get more strategic, but it is easy to learn and doesn’t take too long to finish. The main idea of Blokus is to get more of your pieces into play than anyone else. It is kinda like tetrus. Since the rules can be explained and learned in less than two minutes anyone can join in the fun with ease.

review of rad dad in clamor magazine

2007-01-05T20:49:00.000-08:00

Rad Dad
Issues 2 & 3
Tom Moniz
Self-published, 2005-2006

In mainstream culture, our models for parents are those portrayed in commercials as frantic, protective, and usually white. The stressed out but selfless mother is shown driving a mini-van or SUV carting the kids to dance or karate lessons. The father, when present in popular media, remains the breadwinner who doubles as Little League Coach. Folks like Ariel Gore, Bee Lavender, Ayun Halliday, and now Tomas Moniz are making the prospect of childrearing more appealing to those of us who retch at the image of family presented by magazines like Good Housekeeping.

Moniz, publisher of the zine Rad Dad, shines a light on the need for men to awaken to their responsibility as fathers. But in "Fathering the World," he expands this idea to include accepting the role of father, whether or not they have biological children. Instead of criticizing the individual, he writes, "the society we live in disempowers men to break from the prescribed role of the 'male' parent, the role that supports patriarchy, capitalism, hierarchy, and authoritarianism!" According to the American Psychological Association, "Fathers who batter mothers are twice as likely to seek sole physical custody of their children than are non-violent fathers." If for no other reason, we need to support men like Moniz who are interested in being fathers out of genuine concern for their children, rather than for selfish, manipulative, and abusive motives.

In his second issue, he addresses the stigma attached to public assistance, the emotional aspects of having a vasectomy, poetry, and a reprint of Alfie Kohn's article on thoughtless praise. Again, I am taken by how this zine covers issues so far out of the consciousness of mainstream ideas of parenting. From my perspective as a resident of Hartford--the nation's second poorest city--I see the need for discussion on public assistance. On television, families are represented as middle-class. On occasion, they may struggle with the possibility of job loss, but rarely does that play on the screen. In reality, most of us are not living in luscious penthouse apartments. When children are added to the picture, the financial situation becomes more important. Rad Dad is unlike television or those magazines found in grocery stores - Moniz tells it like it really is, and not how he might fantasize life as being.

The third issue of Rad Dad includes Moniz's struggle with his child's marijuana smoking and subsequent lying, the importance of storytelling, as well as contributions from other writers. Rad Dad, while humorous, deals with real life questions that range from queer parenting issues to raising a child according to anarchist ideals. I would like to see this zine evolve into a glossy companion to Hip Mama magazine.
-Kerri Provost

i don't know -- intro from rad dad #5 out in mid november

2006-11-01T10:37:00.000-08:00

Note: as the essay says I am hoping to travel around the bay area -- sf, san jose, santa cruz, sacto, santa rosa, and the east bay -- in December to do some readings with another zine writer, artnoose who does kerbloom!, and hopefully with other parents/writers (hint, hint) so if you are interested in helping make it happen or can suggest a place to contact for a reading or even something cool to do with my kids in your part of town, please let me know. And of course rad dad #5 is 3 bucks and will be out in mid November…

I was tabling at the sf zine fair and I forgot how much I enjoy talking to people, especially strangers, talking about parenting, about politics and teaching, talking about just about anything. I shoulda been a sales person even though it is true I hate the limelight and how everyone comes up and says, “so you're a rad dad huh?” But here at the zine fair, it was just kinda fun and silly. My daughter was sitting with me and I always threw the question to her.

“Well, he tries to be.” She laughs and says, “No, he is.”

But more than selling, more than getting cool stuff, more than meeting cool people, I realized how much we need to talk to each other about our lives, our choices and their implications. I realized how many people wanted to ask me things when I put myself out there. Like these two bgirls (to use my youngest daughters term for gender blenders) looking at my zines, picking each one up, seeing my story on vasectomies. One simply looks at me and smiles and states: “So what, you can’t cum anymore?”

I stared not sure what to do.

“You know,” she continues, “because you got it cut.”

“No,” I smile, ”I can.”

“Oh, it’s just clear or something?”

“No, it's just the same.”

And as we were debating this I realized there are three other people listening and snickering, and I think I’ve turned a bright red, and my daughter has suddenly moved four tables away. The bgirl laughs and says “Really, I just wondered if that makes you not a father anymore?"

I appreciated the honesty, the frankness and go on to say something about not being able to impregnate someone makes me no less a father than when my kids aren’t with me.

“So what makes a father?”

“I don’t quite know but take one and then write me back and you tell me.”

And it went on like this; people wanted to talk: the mom holding an infant laughing at my rad dad business cards chuckles, “How does changing diapers challenge patriarchy?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s gotta be a connection right? I mean if more men did it and more men stayed home and more men respected breasting feeding and more…”
Or the dyke couple who asked about how parenting reinforces gender roles because they were thinking of adopting.

I just shrugged and said that it’s certainly changed my notions of gender but I don’t know and I asked what they thought and gave them a rad dad and asked them to let us all know what they came up with.

Or the woman who empathized with my struggle to deal openly with my son about smoking pot. She proudly boasts that she and her husband smoke pot everyday and they have a 10 year old. She paused and then asked what I thought she should talk to him about. Don’t ask me I joke because my son can’t seem to get enough and I struggle with how to handle it, how to keep the lines of communication open without totally condoning it, while my partner worries he’s becoming an addict. I just don’t know, but I thank her for talking with me, for sharing with me because it feels good to know other people are out there, struggling to make the right choices. And someone out there might know something we all need to hear, might have an experience that sheds light on some of these questions.

Because there are so many questions that I don’t know answers to.

But one thing I do know is that we need community; I know how invigorated I was, inspired by so many people wanting to talk about fathering, about parenting, about being parent allies! I want more community, so I am setting out right now to say publicly: I wanna create a radical parents conference. I imagine something like ladyfest where parents get together in the locations and create a meeting of people who realize that parenting is a key component to so many of the struggles we all face to change this world, to create and nurture the world we want to be a part of and the world we wish to leave behind. As for the conference, I don’t know what that means, I don’t know what it looks like or what it should be about, but I do know there are hella cool moms and dads out in the world that I wanna sit around with and talk to, be inspired by, get angry with. So help me. Write back; start something up. If you’ve already done some work, keep it up and tell me how I can help.

As for me, in December I wanna go around northern California to read a bit from rad dad and to meet other parents out there. Then in April my daughter and I will hit the road for a tour of the northwest with artnoose, an amazing friend and artist. If you know a place to read at, to meet with other parents, a place to crash, a museum or park to go to, let me know!

a mythology of contradictions

2006-09-08T19:12:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been obsessed with myths. Stories. The mythology of living. The tales we tell to define ourselves, explain our existence, create communities, clarify enemies. I read an essay by Frank Chin who chastised Maxine Hong Kingston and other Asian American writers for bastardizing the myths of China, creating hapa myths devoid of their “true” cultural relevance. And at first I aligned myself with him thinking of Disney’s Mulan, of Aladdin, thinking of history classes my children come home from and try to explain why they build model California Missions. My daughter acknowledge though that she is also building a cemetery for the dead Indians used to build those Missions. What bastardized and commercialized mythology is being told there? And why does it get retold over and over? What purposes does it serve?

So I see his point, but then I remembered how often I have written about the ways storytelling and talkstory can change you, change minds, change directions; how it can also replenish, can restore, bring peace, solidify, fortify. I believe storytelling is less about the events and more about the narration, the connections; you tell what needs to be told; you create what your people might need to hear. I remembered how when I think back on the most memorable moments of my life, I smile and recall the way they are told, narrated, shared with others over dinner or at bed time or accompanied by beers on Thursday night. It’s the retelling that is so powerful, is what makes us laugh and smile, or cry and feel empathy. It’s how we live on.

So my kids and I talk about the Missions and how there are so many stories; we talk about how I won’t go in them, how I waited outside the numerous catholic churches in Mexico as their mother went in to connect with the stories of her religious upbringing. We then talked about how her and I both learned from our individual choices and the exchanges or explanations we had around them. My children and I talk about how beautiful those Missions are and what it means to have something so beautiful, so spiritual, have such a dark origin. We talk about both sides; we create a mythology of contradiction.

And as my family marched with hundreds of thousand of other protesters during the May first general strike, we heard talk of what an American is (can you wave both an American and Mexican flag, someone scoffs at us). Well, what’s the mythology of immigration? What are the ways to explain boarder crossing, exile, diaspora? We, of course, know thanksgiving, but do we know the Florida Seminoles’ story, do we retell the stories of the southwest as it went from Indian, to Mexican, to American nations. And as Gloria Anzaldua fortells, “will become Indian once again.” Some day. My New Mexican family claims they have been here before anyone, and they survived by growing and welcoming others into their lives, into their stories and histories like the Mexicans, the gringos, your mother, they tell me. My father says I’m a new breed a chiconky. That’s how he tells it.

In Kingston’s book The Tripmaster Monkey Wittman says that language contains the key to the past and to our future; that in the Chinese character for I was imbedded in it the word warrior or fight or even weapon. To say I was to say I-fight. How powerful is that? But it has been lost to us now. But do I believe? This mythology isn’t mine. Do you believe me about my family? I’m sure I’m not they only half-bred boy from some idealistic white mother and some reckless father from the rez, or ghetto, or barrio. There’s probably a whole underground army of chiconkistas roaming the United States waiting for our story, our time. I think it’s time we start spreading the word, finding that language that says I and means Fight.

I don’t know how to read Cantonese or Mandarin; but I know what Wittman means when he says we have lost the fight and to regain it, we need to relearn our language. Or better yet create our own. Chin, if you wanna wage war against the storytellers, cut out your own tongue.

Because all language starts with stories. When my son asks me about why my mom ran like the prodigal daughter home to her parents after giving two years of her life to the New Mexican desert, what can I say? The myth that was told me from my abuela goes: it was a snowy night when your mom came, mijo, to say good-bye. She looked at all of us and hugged each one of us. But she did not say a word. And neither did we. We all stood in silence. What could we say, mijo, what could we say? Then, she just turned and left.

She never said a word about them again till I was 18. How strong must you be to hold your tongue for so long? The truth is something a little different: my mom, lonely, a single mother because my father left her and then went to jail, trying to survive, knowing she needed family, decide to return home. Who can blame her? What else needs to be said? But the problem was the silence. That is what caused the pain, what divided families years after the events happened. What people remember is the silence that followed my mother’s departure.

Wittman says Repetition makes a custom. Doing things over and over establishes reality. Hearing the words more than once, the people will get it. I want to get it. I want my kids to get it. I want everyone one to once and for all get it. But in order to do so, we must all start talking and start listening. Don’t worry if it is slightly different each time you tell it; don’t worry if someone else tells it different. Just tell it like it might save your life. Tell it like it fighting for your kids. For indeed, in these times, in this day and age, it just might and you certainly are.

rad dad #4

2006-07-22T18:09:00.000-07:00


rad dad #4 is hot off the presses.  it has an interview with
matt hern, a story on ethnic identity, a new father on colic,
father memories, an essay on looking for community, and a radical
children’s book list, wrapped in another letterpress cover by
bay area artist and zinester: artnoose.  it’s 3 dollars plus
postage (63 cents)…rad dad #3 is still available while it lasts

check us at the portland zine fair aug 11-13 (sky, aka pirate papa
from rd #3, will be there) and tomas will be at the san Francisco
zine fair sept 9-10

as always, I’m look for fellow rabble rousers for rad dad #5 –
out in november

until then we fight patriarchy one diaper at a time

tomas moniz
editor and writer
rad dad zine
1636 fairview st
berkeley ca, 94703

storytelling -- the intro for rad dad 3

2006-03-24T18:22:00.000-08:00

Parenting starts with a story:

My grandma, worried that her 3-year son had not spoken a word yet, had him chase down a grasshopper. Diligently, without complaint, the boy did and returned with a smile. Open she said; confused but with hesitation, he opened wide. Wide. She shoved it in and closed his mouth. Hablas, mijo, hablas. He spit it out crying. Crying and yelling. He has not stopped either since she says and smiles thinking of her now 50 year old son talking his time away in a New Mexican state penitentiary.

This is my father. He smiles when he tells this story now on a snowy day to my children in his trailer on the outskirts of town. He has been out of jail for a year now. My kids look to me for guidance. Do we believe? I can only smile. Teasing, my father says, ‘what mija you don’t believe me? Come here I’ll tell you more.’

I realize this is so central to my parenting. Stories. But I did not know this when I became a father. I didn’t know those afternoons or early mornings when my partner had to leave to culinary school and I had to discover what to do for the next eight hours that I was talking to both my newborn son and myself. I was showing us they way. I was imagining the path home. Telling myself, telling my son that success is possible, that despite my fear, my ignorance, my loneliness this path was traversable. It’s the stories that we tell each other that create connections, that foster empathy, that teach.

But we aren’t the only ones telling tales. I see now how storytelling works in a cultural, social level as well; how myths of capitalism, christianity, patriarchy are told over and over and over until our kids tell them back to each other while at play, to their teachers in their homework, to us if we listen during those tucking ins at bed time or in the quite hours when we wake up together in our bed. This is linguistic terrorism. I have also come to see how it’s our cultural stories that impact our kids more than any one thing can, more than parents, more than teachers.

My daughter combing her hair in the morning, sulks away from the mirror saying her hair is ugly. Who taught her that beauty standard because no amount ‘oh no it doesn’t, honey’ is gone change her view in that moment. My other daughter informing her sister as they play in the car that if she ever lives with a boy then she has to have sex with him. ‘Really, why?’ my partner asks. Because. As if that explains it. We need stories to counter these. We need heroes, legends, rituals that offer other narratives, other examples of how to look, how to live, what should be valued, what holds meaning, what it means to be alive.

Because that shit works; the other day my son, who used to be a vegetarian for the last five years (on his own accord) but now laughs at that Super Size Me film not because of what it’s saying but that it took the guy twenty whole minutes to eat his meal and then he puked. ‘Hella stoopid. I’d eat two in ten minutes,’ my son brags. As if it’s something to be proud of. My son who’s biggest dream right now is to own a scraper to cruise through south Berkeley bumpin base because it looks tight. Yes that’s my son, but so is this. My son taking his 3 year old cousin by the hand for a walk in the back yard and she picks up a worm. He asks her has she ever heard the story about Ella who ate a big ol’ worm when she was a baby thinking it was a cheeto. ‘Ever since then, he says ‘Ella is a little an animal lover. I think it’s the worm inside her.’ They laugh and laugh. I can only smile. I don’t know what it means, what the moral is, but I know my son is gonna make it. In his own way, on his own terms. But he’s gonna survive all the lies that are forced on him and so many others like him. All the bullshit he’s asked to believe or buy into.

What are the stories you need to tell? What do you share with your child, your lovers, your family and friends?

Our strongest weapons are our stories, the stories we tell our children, the ones we whisper to each other in beds of our own making, the myths that fill our imaginations shared among conspirators at bars or over camp fires or sitting in jail cells. It is those weapons we must employ over and over to create the world we want. I have realized that of all the things that give my life meaning it has been the spoken visions of the future or the shared memories of the past that sustain me in the present, that nurture my growth, my will, my determination. In stories, truth doesn’t matter, facts become fictitious, desire and purpose mold the outcome. If I need to hear stories of survival, if I need to find inspiration, if I need to laugh and laugh and laugh, I need only open my mouth, need only to sit with someone close and say ‘tell me a story.’ Here is one of my favorites to tell my kids when they ask why I do what I do. And I swear it is all true.

At 20, a few months before the birth of my son, I hitchhiked from Las Vegas, New Mexico down the highway to the State Penitentiary just outside of Santa Fe to see my father face to face. To try to find some answers, to perhaps find guidance. He tells me he fucked up. He should be out there with me, working with me, living life with me. ‘Because,’ he says, ‘I realized I’m a slave in here. And now I can only fight against other slaves. But if I was out there with you, when I realized I was a slave, I coulda done something, I coulda fought back at least. Somehow. In here, it’s just fucked up. All you can do is write and fight.’

My father explained that in jail, pencils are like daggers, you can write and you can stab. ‘Mira,’ he points to his hand, ‘here are the pencil tips that I cannot get out.’

Welcome to rad dad 3.

2006-03-16T15:35:00.000-08:00

the intro from rad dad #2

Of all the pictures of the devastation that hurricane Katrina wrought, there was one that stopped me cold, that had me mesmerized, overwhelmed, that just seemed to contain all that I wanted to believe about fathers, no, not even fathers, just simply the men in our lives. The picture transcended all the racist media spin, it eased the pain of the decimated street scenes, the moments of panic. One man. One child. Not his even. He was wading through water; he was holding that child like it was the most important thing he could do, like not just that child‘s life but his life depended on their safe arrival. He asked no questions about whose child it was, no need to ascertain ownership, or ask permission. no pathetic excuses about needing to wait and see, to try hard like we kept hearing from the “men” in charge. He just knew: I help this child, I help myself; I help all of us get by. There was such humanity embodied in his arms, in the determination in his eyes. It spoke to me as the epitome of “fathering,” of caring for not just our immediate family but all our relations. I just stared and it reminded me of how much of an impact we can have on the children in our lives, how easy it is to overlook, to forget, to deprioritize others as we take care of our own. A few weeks ago a young boy who has been in my life for years now, a boy whose father has not been around, a father who breaks my heart and is all that is wrong with the “men” in our society, “men” and their disposable offspring. Well, this boy was with his mother and was looking at one of those mirrors that elongates and distorts its reflection; he stared at himself, made a muscle, and said ‘look, it’s almost as big as Tom’s.’ When I heard this story I again realized, as with the picture, how fathering is something all men do whether we want to or not, whether we are prepared for it or not. So it is incumbent upon us to think through who we are and how we affect others especially the children in our lives. Whether we are parents or not. I had this argument a few weeks ago about this with a male non-parent who said it’s not his responsibility to know how to be around kids. He believes this because of the silence around parenting, around its public perceptions of children being seen not heard, of good behavior, of issues of ownership (if it ain’t my kid why should I care or being oblivious to creating and fostering kid friendly spaces). I know friends who take diversity training courses to be prepared for when they work with people of color…but there is no conversation about working with parents, outreach to parents, ways to make actions, spaces, conferences, whatever, parent and child friendly.

In particular, there is a silence among men about fathering. I experienced this as I’ve talked with men about fathering; they are excited yet scared, nervous about making mistakes, most are dying to parent in ways that many of us weren’t fathered; there are very few role models, and the society we live in disempowers men to break from the prescribed role of the “male” parent, the one that supports patriarchy, capitalism, hierarchy and authoritarianism. And sadly, many women collude in this process of disempowering male experiences. It seems that women have the ability to speak about parenting because somehow they are better with kids, more sensitive, more nurturing, because they are women. Men can speak to being proud, being happy and supportive. Or even worse they can speak to issues of discipline. I have found that it has been incredibly difficult to get men to commit to writing something about their ideas, their approach, their fears or experiences. They feel shamed or silenced or not knowledgeable enough. This must end. Because the diversity of fathering is multitude while the prescribed role singular: what can we learn from a gay father about discussing sexuality with our daughters? I want to hear it. What can a working class father share with us about fighting patriarchy in the household while still having to struggle with a 9-5 job. We need to hear it. How does a white father discuss race with his white son or his biracial daughter. Every single one of us can benefit from hearing that story.

For the last few months I have been going to some zine fairs and trying to get the word our about rad dad and I am puzzled by the responses when I say it’s a zine on fathering, on how men impact the world and the children about them, most people smile and say I ain’t a dad, or I don’t know anyone who is and when I ask if there are children in their lives or are they uncles or are they thinking about being a parent most just smile and say something like well I’ll deal with that later, those things don’t relate to me now. Tell that to the man who picked up the child, held her close to his chest and waded out in the waters which were destroying the very place he lived. How we relate to our own children and the know and unknown children in our lives and communities is analogous to how we envision a better world, a more compassionate, loving, creative world. If we continue to curtail that relationship, we continue to live our lives surrounded by levees that cannot hold…

papifesto -- the intro for rad dad #1

2005-12-11T21:40:00.000-08:00

This is long overdue, and I fight the urge to just not do it at all. Sometimes I feel that maybe the new fathers should be the one to start this. Or that I, having been a father now for fourteen years starting when I was twenty-one, am too old, too complacent. Well, perhaps this will get me off my ass. I’m thirty-five, a father of three and ready to get this party started. Here’s one of my stories: as a young father I realized very quickly how isolated I felt on the playgrounds of San Francisco, how little community there was for us. Now playgrounds have long been revolutionary breeding grounds for women and other caregivers, to sit and talk, to bond, to laugh, to find support, to pass on information and education; I can’t tell you how many times I have found peace of mind hearing someone tell me that what my daughter has was just like what hers had and that if I do this or that things would be ok. Sometimes empathy is the most revolutionary thing. But I was a guy, and I was welcomed and am grateful for that, but I still felt on the outside, not really part of that oh so tight inner circle. Damn my cock! Although I know cocks don’t always make men and men don’t always have cocks, but that’s an essay for another time.

Where were the men; there weren’t that many that seemed to hang around playgrounds, but by looking around at all the kids there certainly were a lot of men doing a little somethin, somethin…but again -- where were they?

It was around this time that someone, again on the playground, showed me a copy of hip mama. Wow! Immediately, I wanted one for dads. Now the problem with me is that I tend to think that others will do it better than me, that if I’ve thought of it then at least twenty others have probably done it already. So I did nothing, but waited for it to fall in my lap.

It never did, and I went on to father two more children with a wonderful partner, to begin a teaching career, to discover anarchist theory that helped me challenge myself and my politics and values, to reconnect with chicanismo and with my own father locked up in la pinta for most of my teenaged years; I struggled to incorporate feminism, environmentalism, and activism into my life and my parenting, to explore unskooling and discipline, to watch as other men became fathers. At some point, I finally picked up the pen to take my writing more seriously, to trust my voice and my experiences, to write for myself in other zines and journals. But during all that time, I never ever discovered that magazine for dads. Until now.

But this project seems daunting. I fear people will think I’m being narcissistic: like who does he think he is callin himself a rad dad; I also worry that there is too much to say, too may important issues about race, about class, about patriarchy to address and that this can only be a failure, so why say anything at all. And well all of this might be true. But fuck it; here it is, read it to your kids (I did), your friends, give it to the men in your life as well as the women; forget gender and just give it to everybody. I give you rad dad as a proto-type hoping that it will lead to that community I still long to be a part of, those circles where us fathers can chew on parenting that isn’t based in sexist, out dated gender biases, and yet that can be honest and open though about those same pressures and images we face daily. I hope this continues with me and other fathers. Because I know there are so many fuckin cool dads trying to parent in these dangerous times in loving, meaningful, authentic, and ultimately revolutionary ways. This is for you.