Skip to main content

Parenthood

Here is the most-perfect paragraph on parenting I know of, from an essay by Phillip Lopate:

What is important to an adult and what matters to a child are so often at variance that it is a wonder the two ever find themselves on the same page. Parents may feel an occasional urge to spend money extravagantly on their offspring, only to discover that it means very little to the children themselves. You buy an expensive antique Raggedy Ann doll for your kid that she tosses in a corner, thinking it ugly and musty, meanwhile much more enthralled by the shiny plastic action figure they give out free at McDonald’s. And yet, if you’re like me, you keep falling into the trap of costly, unappreciated presents, perhaps because they’re not really for your child but for the child-self in you who never got them when you were growing up.

 Lopate is arguing that adults are fools; adults have sentimental ideas about childhood, and children themselves don't share these ideas.

A very "iffy" adult sentence is: "I'm trying to do something nice for you!" What is the child meant to do, burst into applause? Adults have an idea of what is nice, and adults tend not to consult children for their input. So, when children are unimpressed, adults become (irrationally) flustered.

I think of this paragraph when I read James Marshall to my son. A part of me suspects that Joshua is murmuring: Oh my God, another George and Martha? But Joshua can't find the words to form a protest. So--crafty guy that he is--he makes his point by becoming obsessed with a light fixture. I'm offering a masterpiece of world literature, and Joshua is engaged in a loud dialogue with a cheap, dusty sconce. Joshua wins the battle.

I agree with Lopate: When I launch a Marshall Fest, in the guise of "doing something nice for the baby," I am in fact trying to do something nice for myself. Of course Josh is, appropriately, irritated.

I love just about everything Lopate writes, and the rest of the essay above, "Tea at the Plaza," is equally dazzling. Basically, the Lopate family takes their little girl to the Plaza, where she shows little or no enthusiasm, and the day almost falls apart. But then the girl gets excited about a dirty, scummy balloon (KIDS!), and everyone's emotions take a turn. But, finally, the balloon floats away.

I like the essay because each of the characters is just a tiny bit absurd, and the twists and turns feel true to life, and it's also an event that maybe no one else would think to dramatize. Lopate's way of describing a potentially-sappy journey--tea at the Plaza!--without even a hint of sap.....is exhilarating.

Have I really learned something from this Lopate essay? Time will tell. Last night, I did force Joshua to sit through five hippo stories. I have some concerns about my own emotional density....
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more