Note to parents of perfect children: tell it to someone who cares. I’m the oldest, by six years, of four siblings and I’m sure we had our share of squabbles, but I don’t remember anything life threatening or even blood producing before I left home. So as I read Michael Lewis’ column this morning I have to ask: is this generational or just a girl thing?
I walk in, note [my daughters] squabbling madly about who gets the grape yogurt and who the strawberry, see the pools growing in [my wife] Tabitha’s eyes, take her in my arms and ask, “Do you two have any idea how lucky you are to have a mom who takes such good care of you?”
Dixie, preoccupied with the Battle for the Grape One, does not hear me, but Quinn looks up for a moment, stares at us, and says, “There’s lots of good moms.”
And then there’s this:
At the first opportunity Quinn snuck into the TV room, clicked around the Tivo, found a biography of Bill Gates, and called Dixie in to watch it with her. An hour later I returned to find them both waiting for me: Quinn with hands on hips, Dixie forlorn and grasping a handful of berries.
“Daddy,” said Dixie, seriously. “I got some berries from the Gulf Stream waters.”
“Why did you do that?”
“So we can eat them. Because we are poor.”
Which seemed like a sweet reaction to the Bill Gates documentary, until Quinn fixed me with her I’m-here-to-speak-the-truth-to-power stare and said, “We’re poor, Daddy. And you didn’t tell us. You lied to us.”
And this:
Must the 7-year-old mind discover for itself every possible way to offend other people before it can settle on a more sociable approach? Is this just the bug that comes with the software upgrade? I don’t know. At any rate, as I stand there with her mother crying in my arms searching for the words that will encourage her to be sweet, I come up empty. “Your mother takes really good care of you and me and Dixie and Walker, and I’m really proud of her,” I finally say.
“You’re just saying that to make her feel better,” says Quinn.
And we wonder why Cain slew Able.