Every proud parent stands around and brags to the other parents “My kid is a rockstar!”

Little Bobby is above average at finger painting or Little Martha has some potential playing the recorder, so we compare them to the likes of Keith Richards, Ozzy Osbourne, and John Bonham.

But your kid is NOT a rockstar.

However my kids, quite literally, are rockstars. Or at least they’re well on their way.

We take them on the road sometimes.

And when we’re staying in a hotel, they completely trash the place just for the fun of it. At the end of our stay there are exorbitant fees to pay for damages to the room. The cleaning staff are horrified by what they witness on those sheets and carpets.

The curtains are torn off the rods, the room is a disaster, every surface is covered in stickiness and traces of white powder (sugar). At the front desk the manager shakes his head over and over again. Sure, it’s somewhat of an honor to have us stay, but they’re also glad to see us go.

That’s when we’re on tour, but the day to day existence is also a chaotic, disjointed lifestyle.

If our house were ever broken into, the burglars would probably leave thinking the place had already been robbed. Most days they sit in their own squalor. Everything is ripped off the shelves, household items are thrown across the room for no reason but momentary impulse.

There is foolishness and acting out. There is a wanton disregard for others’ property. They think “a bathtub is just a toilet you haven’t pooped in yet”.

Every afternoon their drug dealer (the ice cream man) comes down the block to offer them a little pick-me-up of sugar and sprinkles. Something to calm the nerves and focus the mind. After that, they put on makeup and outlandish costumes, then wander the property half-naked.

But eventually the outside pressure to be productive can no longer be avoided. They’ve put it off for long enough and it’s time to sit down and make music. Abner started learning the drums and his sister plays with him. It’s kind of a baby band.

But they never want to play and the practices are always tense.

These studio sessions can quickly devolve into squabbling about creative differences. They both want to feature more prominently in the songs they’re creating. They argue and bicker. These otherwise small disagreements often erupt into shouting matches and crying. “I can’t work like this!!!” one of them yells and they get up to walk out. “That’s fine!!” the other says “Just GO! We’re better off without you anyhow…”

Their mother and I sit behind the glass, chiming in once in a while, “Guys let’s try to get some good practice in…you’ve got a drum lesson coming up in a few days…” But that triggers them even further.

“I’M NOT GOING TO DRUM LESSON!!! CANCEL THE LESSON!!! CANCEL ALL THE REMAINING LESSONS THIS YEAR!!! I CAN’T, I JUST CAN’T!!!.... NOT LIKE THIS….”

After that, the room is awkwardly silent. They’ve stormed out and gone to the kitchen.

But we all know they’ll be back. They’ve probably just gone to get some of that white powder (sugar) or a snack or something. It’s problematic for us to allow this, but it also helps mellow them out. In this sense, mom and I are their enabling managers - tolerant of chaos, but also trying our best to contain it. And channeling that frantic energy towards the performance.

When Little Timmy gets a new badge at Cub Scouts, don’t besmirch the name of those legendary rock and roll degenerates that came before us.

Your kid is NOT a Rockstar.

My kids are rockstars. They’ve got the whole messy routine down: the drama, the recklessness, the addictive tendencies and histrionic cries for attention.

Now all they have to do is become musicians, but that’s the easy part, right?

You're a Rockstar!