Fatherhood and the Fear Campaign
My 22 month old son Max and I were finishing up dinner the other day (or rather, he was threatening to throw handfuls of stew on the carpet while I was frantically trying to finish my meal so I could defuse the human bomb), and my wife had moved to the kitchen. She was putting something (I'm actually not sure what) down the sink disposal, and it was pretty grindy-noisy.
Anyway, the noise was obviously freaking Max out, and he was looking at me with wide eyes and a little fear. I think he was looking to me to know if everything was okay, or what the appropriate reaction to such a sound was.
Here's how it played out, roughly:
Max: (Looks concerned/afraid)
Papa: It's okay, bud. It's just Mom.
Max: (Eyes look to the kitchen, then back at Papa. Now less afraid, more confused)
Papa: She's just grinding up bones.
Max: (Eyes widen)
Papa: Baby bones.
Max: (Stares. A large brown drop falls from his handful of stew and onto his tray)
Papa: Yup. Mom's grinding up your brother, because he was naughty.
Max: (Still staring at Papa) Mum?
Papa: He whined a lot. Threw food. We decided he was just too much trouble.
(The grinding stops. Mom comes back into the room with us)
Mama: Hi Bud!
Max: (Slowly turns from Papa to look at Mom. Silently wipes the remaining stew from his hands and gives the "all done" sign.)
Now, I never planned to subscribe to a Machiavellian parenting style. I mean, I don't think I really believe that it is better to be feared than loved. I think I'd rather be loved. But here I am, telling my son that we stuffed his heretofore unknown brother into a grinder because he was naughty.
Oh well. I will console myself with the thought that he didn't really understand what I was saying. That should work, at least until he starts trying to stuff unwanted toys and pets down the disposal.
Anyway, the noise was obviously freaking Max out, and he was looking at me with wide eyes and a little fear. I think he was looking to me to know if everything was okay, or what the appropriate reaction to such a sound was.
Here's how it played out, roughly:
Max: (Looks concerned/afraid)
Papa: It's okay, bud. It's just Mom.
Max: (Eyes look to the kitchen, then back at Papa. Now less afraid, more confused)
Papa: She's just grinding up bones.
Max: (Eyes widen)
Papa: Baby bones.
Max: (Stares. A large brown drop falls from his handful of stew and onto his tray)
Papa: Yup. Mom's grinding up your brother, because he was naughty.
Max: (Still staring at Papa) Mum?
Papa: He whined a lot. Threw food. We decided he was just too much trouble.
(The grinding stops. Mom comes back into the room with us)
Mama: Hi Bud!
Max: (Slowly turns from Papa to look at Mom. Silently wipes the remaining stew from his hands and gives the "all done" sign.)
Now, I never planned to subscribe to a Machiavellian parenting style. I mean, I don't think I really believe that it is better to be feared than loved. I think I'd rather be loved. But here I am, telling my son that we stuffed his heretofore unknown brother into a grinder because he was naughty.
Oh well. I will console myself with the thought that he didn't really understand what I was saying. That should work, at least until he starts trying to stuff unwanted toys and pets down the disposal.
posted by Dean at 10/25/2005 11:01:00 AM
4 Comments:
If Max doesn't need therapy, I will.
I dunno Shannon. I do have some sympathy for you, but I'm pretty sure you knew what Dean was when you picked him up.
To paraphrase Aesop.
Um.
The original saying, and possibly the reason you need therapy today is, "I would rather be "respected" than loved". It was never "feared", but I can see it should have been. Love Mom.
Who says I need therapy?
I don't need therapy.
And you are you to order me to love my Mom? I'll love my Mom on my own time.
Wait. This is actually from my Mom, isn't it? Sorry. I love you, Mom.
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