I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
June 22, 2008
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I asked why so many movie stars seem to be the children of movie stars: it seems like a blatant case of nepotism.
She disagreed.
“Artists raise their kids differently,” she said. “We communicate to the point where we probably annoy our children. We have art around the house, we have books, we go to plays, we talk. Our focus is art and painting and dress-up and singing. It’s what we love. So I think you can see how artists in some way raise other artists.”
-An interview with Angelina Jolie, Vanity Fair, July 2008
Thank you, Angelina Jolie. Now I finally understand what separates you from me, and your kids from mine. And it ain’t Brad Pitt.
According to you, “artists” (i.e., celebrity actors) actually communicate often with their children. Interesting. Here in the boring old suburbs, we’ve never thought of exchanging words or ideas with our kids. Until I read your interview, I had always thought a series of grunts would do.
Also, you say you have art around the house, and books. You go to plays. You talk. Fascinating concepts, all of them. Art? Books? I’ve heard of such things, but I’d never dream of having them around the house where my children might be corrupted by them. Our walls and shelves, like those of most other Vanity Fair readers with children, are completely bare, save for a few automotive magazines from 1997. And plays? Feh. Our kids don’t need to see no plays. I mean, that’s what the TV’s for, isn’t it?
It’s interesting to note that your children are exposed to art and painting and dress-up and singing, while ours, you imply, are not. Of course you’re right, Angie; I don’t know of a single child around here who does any of those things. They’d rather sit and drool in their bare-walled bedrooms, staring dully at their empty shelves and wondering what time Jerry Springer will come on.
It all makes perfect sense. “Artists,” according to you, raise other “artists,” leaving my friends and I, I suppose, to raise cultureless morons.
I shudder to think of what would we do without Angelina to clear all of this up for the parents of America.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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