Two Questions
February 28, 2008
Filed in: The Home Front, The Middle Ages, The Way We Live Now
1) Chowing down on Mexy food with Beulah last weekend, this came up: “What is the most valuable thing in your house?”
We’re not talking 401K or your car or the various bits of trophy jewelry on your bod. We’re talking in your house. And we’re talking cash value, not sentimental: what did you pay for this thing and/or what’d be worth on the open (eBay?) market.
It’s more of a stumper than you’d think. Since none of us are flat-screen HDTV types, we concluded our laptops are pretty much it. Or maybe that armchair we had recovered. Either way, pathetic. Though T swears we have some lithograph (which I don’t like) that’s worth more. Guess where said valuable lithograph currently resides? In our basement. Which floods. Perfect metaphor for our financial acumen.
Anyhow, it’s a fun parlor game-type question. I wouldn’t dare to launch it on any Swellvillians, for fear of socioeconomic humiliation, but anyone else should be okay.
2) Filling out a medical form for W today, this question unexpectedly laid me flat: “What is your child afraid of?”
The writer in me has to admire its brilliant syntax and bullying directness. Note the absence of room for argument. This question says, “Look, lady, your child has fears, we’re not going to debate that with you. Just tell us what they are. Now.”
What are W’s fears? I remember what he used to be afraid of. I remember what C used to be afraid of (for awhile he was afraid of lobsters, a very bad thing to be afraid of in our neck of the woods). The longer I thought about this, the sadder I felt. My baby! My secretly fearful child! What kind of a mother am I that I can’t answer this question off the top of my head?
All that made me think in turn of how fearful I was at W’s age, and at C’s age, and how secretive I was about my fears—men under the bed who grabbed your ankle when you got up to pee, house fires, giant spiders that fell on your face while you were sleeping. Your parents, dead in their beds.
Christ. It was only 8:30 in the morning. This was not where I needed to be, karma-wise.
I moved on to the next question: “Is your child’s mother a psycho-chicken? Does the simplest, most direct question send her into a downward spiral of muddled anxiety and doubt?”
Check!
Comments on Two Questions
Bullying directness indeed!
I had one from Caleb’s school that was more pandering: “When did you know your child was special?” (It was for the gifted program.) Who could answer that seriously?
Jennifer Niesslein on Mar 04, 2008
I forgot to tell you, while you and T were placing your orders that day, back at the table the C-man was writhing in pain because he was not able to Google anything. I asked W if he ever Googled, and he said, “Sure, like if I’m thinking about hens, I’ll Google ‘hens.’ “ And while C rolled his eyes, I thought, god, how much do I love this child?!
Beeeulah on Mar 09, 2008
here is the part where I resist the “at least he’s not Googling chicks” joke.
Yes, W and his hens...or corn snakes...or sheep (his current obsession). Boy talks to the animals big-time.
Tracy on Mar 10, 2008
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