Backpacking Dad

My first day at Erin's Day One playgroup was weird, for many reasons. That was six months ago, and everyone has adjusted very well and been really friendly and I love bringing Erin to that group every week.

But one thing that hasn't changed in the six months that I've been surrounded by Peninsula moms is the feeling that OmigodI'msuchabadparenthowcouldIletherdothat?

Because from Erin's first day at the playgroup I've been internalizing all of the worries, fears, and paranoias of the moms I talk to. Some are afraid of vaccines; some are afraid of milk; some are afraid of the sun; some are afraid of water; some are afraid of the ground; some are afraid of cars; some are afraid of daycares; some are afraid of dads; some are afraid of moms; some are afraid of plastic; some are afraid of glass; some are afraid of wood; some are afraid of formula; some are afraid of outlets; some are afraid of drawers; some are afraid of cats; some are afraid of sleeping; some are afraid of spiders; some are afraid of sponges; some are afraid of sugar; some are afraid of choking.

From day one, at Day One, I've been bombarded with these fears about the things that are going to hurt, make ill, stunt, retard, or kill my daughter. I'm sure everyone reading this can tell me the same kind of story. And I'm equally sure that you are all perpetrators of at least one crazy fear that you are convinced is 'just-sensible-and-who-wouldn't-want-to-....' blah blah blah. I know I have my own crazy fears; and I know that I would never be able to identify them because whatever they are just seem so sensible to me.

But very early on I adopted a very relaxed attitude toward safety. Because at least one of my crazy-that-I-believe-sensible fears is that I will go crazy and not be able to raise my daughter, I've decided to not go crazy with fear about this stuff.

(Old codger voice): "Back in my day, we used to shave with chainsaws in the snow and eat thumbtacks for breakfast." It's no lie that something has changed in child-rearing, and I'm afraid that what's changed with the constant media reports of children going missing, and people doing disgusting things, and new bacteria and illnesses popping up in our attention, and autism and everything else, is that we've learned the wrong kinds of lessons. We've learned that the best thing for our children is to be constantly vigilant against everything, because we can't bear the thought of slipping and being the family on television saying "We never thought it would happen to us." But that's an over-reaction. That will drive us crazy, and not make our kids any safer, or healthier.

I wonder if our vigilance has done anything to reduce the kinds of things that can go wrong with kids. I doubt it.

And Lenore Skenazy at Free Range Kids has the same doubts. "Isn't New York as safe now as it was in 1963?" she wondered. So she let her 9 year old son find his way home using a subway map, some money, and some quarters for the telephone in case he needed it. Sure there are lots of things to worry about, but the only relevant thing that's really changed in New York in the last 45 years is that parents think about this stuff all the time. Parents are their own crazy-makers. She was on NPR and was bombarded with callers, and also e-mailers, who essentially accused her of child-abuse.

Child abuse? Because there might be, on that particular day, on that particular train, at that particular time, on that particular route, someone who would do something to her son? That kind of worrying is crazy-making, and YES I'm going to sit here and judge those people because this is my blog and I get to say what I want. Also, I'm right, and they're crazy.

Here's how I've put off my own crazy-making when it comes to Erin and her safety:

If, at the end of the day, I haven't stabbed my kid with a fork, I'm doing a pretty good job.

I told this little mantra to the moms at Day One on my first day there. About half of them looked at me like I was the devil. The other half looked at me like I was an idiot: "Who's wife let her husband baby sit today??" I could see them all wondering. The third half (it was a big group that day) looked at me like I was a frickin' genius. An alien genius, but still a genius. Some of these latter moms admitted they would have a really hard time giving up some of their craziness, and I get it. And maybe it's a very dad-type attitude to have. I don't know which of my crazy fears I still have. As I said, they must seem pretty sensible to me. But I appreciated these moms both listening and not acting as though I was a mental defective or a child abuser.

I'm friends still friends with those moms.

Warning: Movie Karma and rant to follow.

Erin and I see a lot of movies. I'm a movie addict, and she's so easy to bring that we have seen just about everything. We go so often that I'm thinking about adding a new feature to the site: "Erin's Movie Reviews" that will rate movies based on how easy they were for her to sleep/stay quiet through, because some are easier than others (Erin does not like the sound of Paul Giamatti's voice whatsoever).

I was away from my family this Easter weekend, at a philosophy conference in Pasadena (I aspire to be a professional philosopher, if I ever manage to write a thesis, and I was asked to comment on a book this week, which I was very excited about). I was a bit torn about the trip: I wanted to jump into my professional life a bit after being home since September and thinking about nothing apart from Erin; but I also missed Erin and Emily terribly. And in my lonely, downtime moments I couldn't think of anything to do with myself. Sometimes I just didn't feel like talking to professors; I wanted to make faces at my daughter.

Now, historically this sort of loneliness and slight depression was easily remedied: booze can make you friends with just about everybody. But I didn't feel like drinking, and I certainly didn't feel like drinking alone. So I went to the movies.

I went twice. The first time I saw "Semi-Pro", and it was the late afternoon and hardly anyone was in the theater. This actually would have been a perfect movie to have Erin along to (that thought didn't help me feel any less lonely).

I also saw "Drillbit Taylor"; it had a convenient early evening start time and I hadn't seen it, so I went. I climbed to the very back of the near-empty theater and sat in the last row, right under the projector. As I waited for the movie to begin I marveled a little that the theater was once again empty, and then I maudlined a little that I didn't have Erin with me.

Erin is very good in the theater. But every once in a while she'll be awake and a little too gleeful. She laughs (fine), and babbles to herself (slightly less tolerable if there are other people around), but it's when she screeches with glee that I really make the move to take her out of the theater. I don't want to disturb the other movie-goers too much (or at all, really, but I only go to the early afternoon shows on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, so the 3 other people who go to see the month-old movie on that day can, I think, deal.)

Waiting for a little karmic revenge on behalf of those 3 people?

Fine. Waiting for "Drillbit" to drill some bits. And into the PG-13 film screening room come, sprinting, bursting, buzzing, and flitting

Thirty 12-year old girls. And, in the almost completely empty theater they decide that they need to peform the equivalent of a Movie Theater Disk Defragmentation and ensure that all of the data bits are as close together as possible. They plunk themselves down Right. In. Front. Of. Me. And fill in my row to my left and to my right.

OMGROFLMAOMYOBIDKURADORKIH8TUKARMA

Chatty (of course; they were 12). Texting (of course; they were 12). Talking on cell phones (uh, 12).

Did I mention they were 12?

Did I mention that the movie was PG-13? I'm no prude (who says that?) but there were two mentions of pornography in the film itself and one in a preview trailer. And that was the tame stuff.

How did they get in? Oh. Because they were brought by one fraaaaaazzled escort. I both admired and hated this poor woman. On the one hand, she kept a pretty good lid on the babbling during the movie (there were occasional interruptions, but not really anything I would get upset over); on the other hand she had no business doing this by herself. I'm pretty sure that even though her purchasing tickets for these 30 girls was fully in keeping with the letter of the PG-13 warning and discouragement, it was clearly outside the spirit of the policy. You are supposed to be able to keep your younger kids under control at the movies, yes, but most importantly you are supposed to be able to make the decision for your kids that "Whoa! That was a bit over the top. We have to go, kids!" She was never ever ever going to be able to make the content-dependent decisions about the movie for this group, and it showed in what they were permitted to sit through.

I wouldn't have let them get past Justin Timberlake dressed as a French porn star in the 80's (in full banana hammock) in the trailer for the new Mike Meyers movie. They wouldn't have gotten past the more than overt sexual dialogue. Clearly the parents of these kids had decided that the kids could decide, as a group, which movie to see and that then they would figure out which parent was going to chaperone them. That's not the way to deal with PG-13 movies, folks. Not at all.

So. Did I learn my lesson? No. Erin and I will still be going to movies. All of them. Even the PG-13 movies. Do you know why? Because I know when I have to get up and take her out of the theater, and I am confident that I can make that decision for my daughter. I wouldn't try it with 30, no matter how well-behaved or even mature they are.