DADDY DAZE

brain is as sharp as a tack but — as a kid on the spectrum — struggles with emotional regulation and finds loud noises traumatic.

Alicia shrugs: “It’s selective. He can’t handle background noise when he’s trying to concentrate. But he loves loud music.”

It’s a bizarre scenario, a warped replica of my own teenage years that somehow made the jump — intact — to 2017.

“It would be like me blasting Glenn Miller’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’” — a big hit in ’39 — while my parents ordered me to turn down ‘that infernal big band racket.’

“And how does a nine-yearold get addicted to a 40-year-old song?”

“He’s heavily influenced by what you like,” shouts Alicia, struggling to make herself heard. “Plus, it’s the only CD he has.”

Oh, right — “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2.” I bought it for him after we saw the movie about bickering superheroes with Sony Walkmans tethered to their ears.

Sweet’s “Fox on the Run,” ELO’s “Mr. Blue Sky,” Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain,” Glen Campbell’s “Southern Nights” — I kid you not, it’s the soundtrack to my Grade 11 school year.

“So, what are we dealing with here?” I press Alicia.

“Is this a Marlon Brando ‘Wild One’ scenario: ‘What are you rebelling against? Whadda you got!’ Or are we just typical clued-out parents who don’t understand their kids?”

She shouts over the rumbling floorboards: “That’s a tough one. He’s a mini-teenager in terms of blasting his music at 7 a.m., oblivious to everyone else.

“But it’s not like ‘I’m pissed off and I’m blasting my music!’ It’s like ‘It’s the last day of school — I’m so excited!’”

I see her point, but I’m not convinced.

Ever since the start of Grade 4, my older son has been ditching me in the school parking lot, claiming he’s “too embarrassed” to be seen with me, a ridiculous notion given my sunglasses and sweatpants “Dad” attire and proclivity for words like “YOLO” and “buggin’.”

“Have you seen him acting cool with his friends, pretending he doesn’t know me?” I ask pointedly. “‘Get lost, man, before I call a cop.’

“If he’s not Marlon Brando, he’s definitely turning into Judd Nelson from ‘The Breakfast Club.’”

Alicia gives me her “I think you jumped the shark” expression.

“He still writes detailed notes to the tooth fairy and wants to sit on Mommy’s lap,” she points out, unmoved by my hysteria. “I don’t think he’s at any risk.

“Besides ... (big smile) ... if he really wanted to torment you, he’d be playing Nickelback.”