Madeleine McCann

The new Madeleine McCann documentary makes a striking observation. A scholar of abductions is speaking. "There's something about certain disappearances. A disappearance can GO VIRAL. That's when people everywhere can't stop talking about the disappearance. And I think the distinguishing factor is: a part of the disappearance that feels universal. A part that makes the reader say, That could happen to me."

In other words, disappearances happen all the time. We don't talk obsessively about every single disappearance. There's sometimes an insinuation that the McCann story gets so much attention simply because the kid in question was reasonably wealthy and white. (In other words, if McCann had been black, we wouldn't be talking about her.) I'm not sure the story is that easy. I think a main reason people respond so forcefully to the McCann details is that a part of us can imagine being as negligent as Dr. and Dr. McCann. Famously, crazily, the two McCann parents left their daughter in a hotel room on her own so that all the adults could go off and drink nearby. That's when the abduction happened.

We judge the parents--so self-absorbed!--and we also secretly think, Yep, I could be in that boat, as well. (This reminds me of the Lorrie Moore story where the narrator wonders if her baby's cancer is cosmic retribution for certain non-maternal behaviors. Leaving a bowl of Cheerios on the floor for the baby. Joking: Happy? We just want him to be rich!)

The McCann story is especially horrifying because the McCanns themselves became targets of speculation soon after the kidnapping. Some people believe that the two wealthy doctors accidentally murdered their own child, then staged a cover-up. Imagine losing your daughter, having your own negligence exposed on a universal scale, then getting told that people think you actually offed your daughter in a moment of stunning (additional) carelessness. And that people think you're nefarious enough to draft an elaborate, imagined abduction plot as a way of removing suspicion from your own behavior. The mind reels.

I suspect we'll never really get an answer in the Madeleine affair. Who knows? In the meantime, we get odd bits of insight into human behavior. A Portuguese reporter profiled in the new McCann documentary describes her profession. She doesn't have a strong grasp on English, so she uses unintentionally awkward phrases. "I am always being drawn to truth-finding, even in my childhood. I am always hoping I find the story beneath the lies. The BENEATH truth."

She means to say: "the truth beneath the posturing." But, in her halting English, "beneath" becomes an adjective. The "beneath truth"--the ore at the center of any well-reported story. The account of how people actually behave--the account that cuts through the thicket of human nonsense, the thicket of self-justifying, self-exonerating stories people invent in which they *seem to* behave in respectable ways.

Smartly, the McCann documentary-makers seize on that phrase--"the BENEATH truth." It becomes the title of the first installment of the new McCann documentary. We're all digging, digging--trying to find the valuable thing *beneath* life's false and glittery surfaces. That's fascinating to me--always has been, always will be.

(P.S. I know I'm mixing metaphors. Ores! Thickets! I just get excited.)

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

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