PC for Children

At the park one day with my son, we encountered a family and the mother was wearing a hijab. My son, then three, called out, "Look Daddy, Muslims!"

"Ha ha," I said wanly, "I guess he shouldn't be watching so much CNN."

Fortunately, the mom handled this with aplomb, saying to her family, "Did you hear what the little boy said? He's right. We're Muslims."

Of course, this could have been much worse. When he sees slender African-American women he is apt to shout, "Daddy, look - it's Condoleeza Rice!"

Ha ha, I shouldn't have let him watch the 9/11 Commission hearings with me.

Sometimes I make things worse. We were discussing Spiderman's enemies - one of whom is "Hydro-Man" who can turn into water.(?!?) I am teaching my son sarcasm and began joking, that you don't need Spider powers to fight Hydro-Man, a paper towel would do. I told him about Rosie and Bounty (the quicker picker upper) and how maybe Hydro-Man could be her archenemy.

Than I got a little carried away, and though of the perfect hero for an epic battle with Hydro-Man - Towel Head Man.

"Ahem," my wife said, "Was that a good idea?"

"Ha ha," I smiled wanly.

Kitchen Design for Dads: Part I

The Goofs live in one of those blessed municipalities where increased property values have made home improvement not merely popular but mandated by law. I voted for a soundproof glass playroom, my wife opted for a new kitchen (it was the original kitchen and apparently she was tired of cooking over a hearth.)

At the kitchen design showroom I was awed by the vast expanses of gleaming granite countertop and the sleek new appliances. I envisioned myself standing by the island, my dome gleaming under the recessed lighting (I use a little Extra Virgin Olive Oil for a special sheen - thanks George Costanza) issuing commands:

Left burners on full! Oven, 450 degrees! Dishwasher, complete cycle! Engage!

However, I should warn you, the bridge of the Enterprise is a terrible model for kitchen design (your wife won't let you do it anyway). My friend Milton did use the bridge of the Enterprise as the template for his kitchen. Bad traffic flow, and surprisingly little counterspace (although he used the original series.)

Still, Milton's wife let him do this - he may be the luckiest man in the world.

But definitely get a pull-out faucet head, you can pretend it is an intercom and issue commands to the whole house (at least until your wife grabs you by the ear with the salad tongs.)

G'Bye Mate: We'll Miss the Crocodile Hunter

Steve Irwin, better known as "The Crocodile Hunter" died as he lived, shouting about wildlife.

A little "Crocodile Hunter" went a long way and it was easy (and fun) to overdose. I remember my son's first exposure. He was home sick from school and when I got home from work and sat with him on the couch he attempted to "trap" me. First he covered me with a red and yellow afghan my grandmother had made for me and then he tried to haul me away with his "Li'l Builder" crane. I asked him what he was doing and he jumped on me (sick no more apparently) and said, "Quiet, ya big croc! I'll get ya!"

Irwin was a big man, who's calming whispers would have been a bellow coming from a lesser bloke. I envied him. During the 2004 brouhaha over his holding his son near a crocodile I could only think how cool for the little Croc kid. His dad was famous and played with cool animals. The closest equivalent for my son is when I bring him to my office and let him use the stapler - he might staple his sleeve to my desk calendar.

My mom only exacerbated my envy. A retired social worker, her professional call was that Irwin was the best judge of whether a crocodile posed a danger to his son and would have let it go at that. On the other hand, she has opined that my letting my five year old watch Seinfeld reruns is child abuse.*

If there is an afterlife, I hope it has cable. Because the outsized, blustering Irwin could team up with the sagacious Fred Rogers for an eternity of the greatest children's programming of all time.

Meanwhile, all of Australia is in mourning. Suddenly they are short of international celebrities (Paul Hogan proving to be a washout and Mel Gibson just being too weird.) Hopefuly the Australian government is taking the appropriate measures to protect the Wiggles.

*I may have brought this maternal judgement on myself. I taught my son to greet his grandmother by narrowing his eyes to a slit and saying, "Hello Newman." (My mom's name isn't even Newman.)

"Here... diagonally"

If you were a kid in the 1970s you probably remember the commercial for "Connect Four:"

sister: I win!
brother: where, I don't see it
sister: see, here...diagonally
brother: pretty sneaky, sis!

Then the brother - frustrated - would let all the checkers fall to the table in a red and black crescendo worthy of Stendahl.

Now my son is in a "Connect Four" phase. But at five, the concept of diagonal is on a par with astrophysics. Again and again I get to relive that commercial. Except my son, rather than being impressed by my cleverness, is simply bewildered. He does enjoy watching the checkers crash.

Finding Problems with Nemo

Finding Nemo is a charming animated movie about a daddy clownfish on a quest to find his little lost clownfish child. It will occupy your children endlessly, and you can even watch it a few times without getting sap poisoning.



However, there are complications. First, my son went through a phase in which he was anxious about going down the drain. Bathtime was a terrifying experience because of his concerns. I marshaled extensive evidence to prove that he would not go down the drain. There were demonstrations - frequently using objects he could eat: but that could not go down the drain. There were discussions, lectures, diagrams. I employed a multi-pronged full-scale informational campaign to prove that he could not slip down the drain. I used every tool of the Western philosophical tradition - from empirical evidence, to Aristotelian logic, to Socratic dialogues. Finally, he was persuaded.

Then he saw the movie, which includes a scene where Nemo, in fact, goes down the drain. (For Nemo this was a good thing since it allowed him to get out of a fish tank and back to the Great Barrier Reef - but my son saw right through this and will never trust me again.)

Issue Two: Clownfish are really cute, colorful fish. They are also saltwater fish - which means if you put them in a tank at home they will probably die soon. If you really know what you are doing then:

1. you probably aren't reading this blog, since keeping your fish alive is absorbing your every waking moment and


2. the fish will die a bit less soon.

Keep this in mind when your children see the clownfish at the pet store and beg to have a real Nemo at home.* You don't want to be the Daddy who killed Nemo. At the "flusheral" your children will wail like walruses in heat (a more tragic and sad sound may you never hear.)

With that in mind, you might be tempted to appease the little tyrants by applying whiteout to a regular goldfish. This is very hard on both you and the goldfish. Touching up more than one goldfish in this manner will almost certainly exceed your emotional, physiological, and chronological capabilities (to say nothing of the goldfish). Worse if you have other goldfish they will tease the painted one mercilessly.

Not to say Finding Nemo isn't a good kids movie. But, like all good things, it comes at a cost.

* I am aware of the irony that Finding Nemo was about a little clownfish escaping to freedom from captivity, and yet your children will want to place a clownfish in captivity. Children, however, are immune to irony (and also to sarcasm). It is a survival mechanism.

You may wish to try to reason with your kids. When they demand a clownfish try to explain this inconsistency. Have fun with that. I understand some people also like jabbing forks in their ears.

Doggie Stories Redux

They were onto me. The kids asked me, over and over again, to read the story of Balto the dog hero. Then they would giggle at me as my voice caught and I choked back my tears. I think my wife instigated this.

So, in revenge, I threw the most poignant dog story ever written at them. (Not Old Yeller, which in comparison seems insipid.) I made them listen as I read (and it took a long time because I kept choking up):

Thus they spoke to one another. And a hound that lay there raised his head and pricked up his ears, Argos, the hound of Odysseus, of the steadfast heart, whom of old he had himself bred, but had no joy of him, for ere that he went to sacred Ilios. In days past the young men were wont to take the hound to hunt the wild goats, and deer, and hares; but now he lay neglected, his master gone, in the deep dung of mules and cattle, which lay in heaps before the doors, till the slaves of Odysseus should take it away to dung his wide lands. There lay the hound Argos, full of vermin; yet even now, when he marked Odysseus standing near, he wagged his tail and dropped both his ears, but nearer to his master he had no longer strength to move. Then Odysseus looked aside and wiped away a tear, easily hiding from Eumaeus what he did; and straightway he questioned him, and said: “Eumaeus, verily it is strange that this hound lies here in the dung. He is fine of form, but I do not clearly know whether he has speed of foot to match this beauty or whether he is merely as table-dogs are, which their masters keep for show.” To him then, swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou make answer and say: “Aye, verily this is the hound of a man that has died in a far land. If he were but in form and in action such as he was when Odysseus left him and went to Troy, thou wouldest soon be amazed at seeing his speed and his strength. No creature that he started in the depths of the thick wood could escape him, and in tracking too he was keen of scent. But now he is in evil plight, and his master has perished far from his native land, and the heedless women give him no care. Slaves, when their masters lose their power, are no longer minded thereafter to do honest service: for Zeus, whose voice is borne afar, takes away half his worth from a man, when the day of slavery comes upon him.” So saying, he entered the stately house and went straight to the hall to join the company of the lordly wooers. But as for Argos, the fate of black death seized him straightway when he had seen Odysseus in the twentieth year.

My social worker mother might consider it child abuse, but a little Homer won't hurt you. If you have lost your Lattimore, forgotten your Fagles, or ton Pope es perdu you can find the complete text of the Illiad and the Odyssey and much else at the Perseus Digital Library.

You can torment your children with it now. But you can dream that in a few decades this stuff will come in handy and get them out of a jam. Then, you'll have an excuse to do your Sean Connery impression (from either Name of the Rose or Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade) and pronounce, "Your classical education serves you well."