You try resisting request of innocent, wide-eyed child

My second-grade son comes traipsing into the kitchen: "Papa?" I look up from the taco meat I'm stirring, which is weird when you think about it because I'm making tostados.

My boy extends his hands, holding out a bumper sticker. You guessed it: "I'm the proud parent of an honor student at Staton Elementary." When I picked him up earlier today, he was blushing with pride. He'd gotten straight "A's" for the first trimester, and was waving a certificate saying he'd made the honor roll.

Time freezes. See, there's no way for little Joseph to know that his father has a love/hate relationship with bumper stickers.

On the one hand, I enjoy reading the funny ones. "PETA: People eating tasty animals" never fails to crack me up. "Instant a$$%#@!: Just add alcohol" makes me think of a close relative. "Who are these kids, and why are they calling me 'Mom?' " is a guaranteed giggle. "Mean People Suck" (my personal all-time favorite) always brings a victorious cheer from my heart.

Endlessly entertaining is the way some Christians and evolutionists duke it out on the backs of their cars. There's the Christian fish symbol. Then there's the Darwin fish (it says Darwin on it) swallowing the Christian fish. Then there's the Jesus fish (it says Jesus on it) swallowing the Darwin fish.

I'm guessing the participating Christians think of it as "witness." Further, that the proponents of evolution think of it as protest. But I'm going with my grandmother, who would have called it a pissin' match.

And speaking of religious promotion through the medium of bumper stickers, I once pulled up behind a car with two stickers. On my left in block letters was the proclamation "God loves you!" On the right of that same car, "I'd rather be killing Sandinistas in South America." A "Sesame Street" song popped into my head: "One of these things is not like the others/One of these things just doesn't belong."

It crossed my mind to get out of my car, saunter up, tap on the driver's window and gently suggest that, while he was free to have one or the other of those bumper stickers, it might be a wee bit contradictory to have both. I decided against that little excursion when it occurred to me that I didn't exactly know how Sandinistas dressed, and drivers like this might not be adept at distinguishing Sandinistas from people "God loves."

But, while I derive some petty pleasures reading other folks' bumper stickers, I've never in my life displayed one on my car. They just don't fit my particular idiom. OK, let me come out and say it: My prejudice is bumper stickers are a little 'neck. They don't exactly reek class. And that's when they are new. Beat on them for a few months with the sun, wind and rain, and they just look ratty.

And here's my son. Seven years old. Eyes wide with innocence. "Papa, would you like to put this on your car?"

On top of my already strident antipathy for bumper stickers in general, now the words of the late comedian George Carlin loom in my mind. In a routine titled "A List of People Who Oughta Be Killed," he spoke specifically of parents who put "Proud parent/honor roll" bumper stickers on their cars: "What kind of empty people need to validate themselves through the achievements of their children? ... I'd like to see a bumper sticker that says, 'We're the proud parents of a child whose self-esteem is sufficient that he doesn't need us promoting his minor scholastic achievements on the back of our car.' Or how 'bout, 'We're the embarrassed parents of a cross-eyed little nitwit ....' "

Of course Carlin is right. Why else would it be funny? We've changed child-rearing to parenting, and modern parenting is more and more about validating parents as opposed to merely raising children. Telling the world I'm a proud parent on the back of my car? About as relevant as "Baby on board" -- the idea being that people will be less likely to plow into your car with their car if they thought there was a baby in it.

Did I mention my son's wide eyes? Funny how principles, snooty prejudices, preferred aesthetics and even keen sociocultural analysis pale and crumble under the gaze of a child: "Absolutely I want to put that on the back of my car."

Turns out I'm the proud parent of an honor student. Says so on the back of my car.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Sundays. Contact him at skalas@reviewjournal.com.