Dad Entry #135

You know, there is tremendous inertia around writing about my kids. When it's time for a new entry, when it's been a while since I scribbled anything about them, I struggle to get started. And then... I can't stop (trying to write the best I can for them). They are such fascinating creatures. Of course, so are the rest of us. Ideally we keep things simple, but to be human is complex, it's multi-layered, multi-dimensional, it's big and thorny, but with roses too, and interactive; yes, life is social (whether we like it or not, we are intertwined). So I think we should choose openness and depth over simplicity sometimes, depending on how much we want to peel the onion. My kids don't like onions. But I suspect they might down the road, when eating a bratwurst, for example, or Mongolian beef (I'm pretty sure Heng Wing restaurant in Palatine puts narcotics in their Mongolian beef). The kids and I ate onion rings over the weekend, although if Meg-Pie had her way she'd only eat the batter.

Megan asked me, "Have you ever been jealous of anyone?" I said, "Yes, Honey, I know exactly what that feels like. Who are you jealous of?" Megan answered, "Alissa." When I asked why - thinking we might plunge into a piercing and powerful discussion, one about self-esteem, for example - Meg said, "Because she has an American Girl doll suitcase and I don't have one." Oh. Okay. So maybe I'm over-anxious for that depth and complexity I mentioned above.

The other day, Michael mused, "I don't know how adult palates adjust to beer and coffee." I'm accustomed to impressive comprehension and eloquent phrasing from Michael, his adult-like attempts to use not-simple words. He has a nice vocabulary. But this comment just seemed especially... Michael-like. He is nine years old now. I don't think I employed the word 'palate' in conversation until my third decade, nor did I conceive of how a palate is something that 'adjusts' to given objects of consumption, objects like whiskey, a pleasing beverage to certain loved ones, but something I just can't enjoy like I do beer and coffee. It doesn't matter if it's Scotch, Irish, or Canadian whiskey. Michael would describe my palate as obstinate, intransigent, or intractable when it comes to embracing Johnnie Walker, Jameson, or Canadian Club. I love Michael. He's smart.

Megan will be in first grade soon. This means she'll eat lunch at school. Woo-hoo! Yes, apparently she's excited, and she shared one reason for this the other day, "Next year I'll get to see Michael at school lunch!" My first thought was: he better not ignore you, Megan, or be dismissive or aloof or anything other than perfectly awesome to you... or I'm gonna be pissed. Megan adores Michael. And I love her for it. I love her for a zillion other reasons, or in a zillion other ways, or with a zillion times a zillion units of force or volume or whatever the best metric. But you gotta start somewhere, and now if I list all the reasons I love Megan, I only have a zillion minus one to go.