Oscar Meyer... Take Me Away!

It's a glorious Saturday afternoon, sunny, clear, and warm. A fresh breeze teases its way through the house, cooling us and stirring the flower-blossoms in the front and back yards. The table is set; the children are seated and smiling... it is a commercial-perfect Kodak moment. Fresh-off-the-grill hamburgers are served to Paul, Sherry, and me. A perfectly-grilled hot-dog lies nestled in a warm bun on Eddy's plate; his eyes are shining and he licks his lips loudly and dramatically for effect, "Yummmm! HOT DOGS!" Condiments and drinks are served and the meal begins.

I force my eyes to my plate, determinedly keeping them downcast as I eat this magnificent burger. A quiet mantra repeats itself in my mind, "I will NOT nag the kids. I will NOT nag the kids. I will NOT..." Occasionally, I look up and smile. I glance around nervously... are they eating? Are their elbows on the table? Are their mouths wide open whilst chewing, providing a grotesque but fascinating insight into the early digestive process? NO, I won't look. I stare at my plate again, the mantra soothing me as it continues... "I will NOT nag the kids..."

The quiet sounds of consumption are interrupted by an announcement. "Daddy? I think I got too much burger." Sherry has eaten half her adult-sized burger, a rather excellent serving size and a rather excellent job of it. "That's fine," Paul says, "you did a great job on your lunch, Sherry! We'll wrap up the rest of the burger for later, if you want it. Now please sit quietly with us until everyone is finished." Sherry beams. Life is good. Is Kodak getting all this, I wonder?

Having completed her meal, Sherry is now free to do what she does best: talk. She begins with an overview of why she needs to see a dentist and why she will eventually need braces. We are treated to a brief ("Sherry! Stop it!") wide-open view of her mouth, and the "offending" teeth, complete with fingers pointing out what we might've overlooked, and a running commentary, made hard to understand by the open mouth and dancing fingers. Thus deterred from her dental dissertation, Sherry begins inventorying her callouses and blisters. "I got these on the monkey-bars at school." She smiles knowingly, reminding us, "I'm the monkey of the family," then continues... "You know, Eddy, if you'd play more on the monkey bars, you'd have callouses, too. I've got them all over both my hands and some on my legs. I don't know how the ones on my legs got there. I don't really think I use my legs on the monkey bars... or at least not enough to cause callouses. I'm not really sure. Maybe I do. You can see, here, where this one WAS a blister, but then turned into a..." I quit listening. She's not hurting anything. Let her talk... "I will NOT nag the kids... I will NOT nag..."

My burger is now a happily-digesting memory. MAN that was good. I sip my drink, careful not to slurp, and return my glass to the table. It is time. There's nothing else for it. Staring at an empty plate will raise questions I don't want to answer, and I must now rejoin my dining companions in a more interactive, meaningful way.

Deep breath. I look up. Paul is finishing his burger. Sherry is still talking; I don't hear her, having tuned out that frequency in a desperate attempt to preserve any remaining illusions of sanity. I tune in briefly, "So Alexa and I went to Brownie Camp and it was only one night but we had a lot of fun and we learned some new songs--I think I'll sing one for you now!", and quickly tune out again.

My attention turns to Eddy. His right leg is propped up on the cross-bar of the chair, his body turned slightly to the right. He's leaning heavily on his right hand, as though too exhausted to sit up straight and manage the herculean task of... eating. His left hand rests idly on his hot-dog bun, and his wide glazed eyes are aimed skyward. I look at the hot-dog in horror. There is a bite taken from one end... small, almost accidental-looking. The bun is a ragged-eged mess of finger-picked destruction, bloodied with catsup and left to die on the plate.

Paul sees me and follows my gaze to Eddy's plate and the slaughtered carcass of the innocent hot-dog. "Eddy! What are you DOING? Sit up straight and face the table! Eat your lunch! It's a HOT-DOG! It's what you ASKED for!"

Eddy drags his attention back to his lunch. He eyes it suspiciously. Who'd want to eat THAT? Indeed.

With further prompting, the hot-dog is conveyed to Eddy's mouth, and a reluctant bite taken. He glances desperately from Paul to me, hoping perhaps, for a reprieve from this task before him, but finds no mercy. He begins chewing... and chewing... and chewing... what began as a bite of hot-dog has undoubtedly become a tasteless paste in his mouth... yet STILL he chews... "EDDY! Swallow that bite and take another!" Paul is not happy.

Eddy's throat flexes and constricts... the tension is palpable (even Sherry has quieted, watching her brother in morbid fascination). Will he do it?? Will he swallow?!

*HORK* *HACK* *GAG* Eddy retches violently, and the hot-dog paste spatters on the plate. I look down quickly, suppressing a gag-response of my own, then push back from the table. I can't watch this. I can't sit here while he vomits onto his plate and have any hope in hell of keeping my own lunch down. MY lunch had been excellent. Well... right up until the bit where Eddy puked in his plate. Note to self: have the Kodak people edit this out.

My temper flares suddenly and viciously, "Don't you DARE do that! Leave the table immediately! What the hell is WRONG with you?!" Eddy prepares to leave the table. "Oh no you don't!" I bellow. "You'll scrape that disgusting plate into the trash and clear your place young man! Thanks a LOT, Eddy, for ruining lunch for everyone else!"

Eddy takes his plate to the trash and scrapes the contents as instructed, placing the cleared plate into the sink. As he prepares to wander off, Paul snaps him back to the immediate issue. "Edward James! SIT DOWN."

Eddy's shoulders droop. It's not over, yet. He returns to his seat at the table. "Yes, Dad?"

"Eddy, you ASKED for a hot-dog for lunch. Why did you do that if you didn't WANT it?" Eddy shrugs. I excuse myself and leave them to finish their exercise in futility; I've seen this show before and it never has a satisfying ending.

What're YOU lookin' at?! 

Movie Night with the Kids

The movie begins... "Envy," with Jack Black and Ben Stiller.

On cue, the fidgeting and mumbling commence... I can't quite make out what he's saying... but he's talking to himself, quietly and steadily. "Eddy? Do you not want to watch the movie?" The fidgeting stops momentarily; he is twisted, pretzel-like, improbably, no part of his body touching the chair where it was meant to do so. "I want to watch it," he answers. "Okay," I tell him, "then please sit still and keep your mouth shut tight. You can't watch and listen if you're talking non-stop, honey." He nods vigorously in agreement, as though it's just occurred to him how this might be true.

The beginning of the movie is typically a setup for all that follows; I try to focus on the screen and listen. From the corner of my eye, the recliner's occupant is a steady, arrythmic blur of movement. I take a deep breath and release it slowly... quietly. I strain to hear the movie soundtrack, the subtle, but steady commentary in the chair beside me acts as a damper. What IS he saying?

"Eddy!" I hiss. "PLEASE be quiet! I can't even hear the movie!" He clamps his lips together, miming the 'pick-a-lock' gesture, and I return my attention to the movie. What's just happened? Why is the main character...?! Oh hell. Never mind. I'll just keep watching and see if I can figure it out.

Like a carefully composed swell of inspirational music, Eddy's monologue resumes, building slowly but steadily in tempo and volume. I can't hear the movie, again, and shoot Eddy a look. He's oblivious... fingers weaving and twining together, foot tapping to a rhythm only he can hear, glazed eyes aimed at the ceiling, but seeing nothing of it.

"EDDY!"
"Huh?"
"Honey, please watch the movie with your mouth SHUT. If you can't do that or aren't interested in the movie, you may leave the room!"
"I want to sit beside YOU."
Sigh. "Sherry, would you mind trading places with Eddy for a bit?"
"I don't want to."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Trade places with him anyway; you can take turns sitting here with me."

She sighs, glaring at Eddy, and changes places with him.

Eddy puts an arm around me awkwardly, craving closeness but not sure how to achieve it. The position of his arm and hand are pulling my hair painfully; I take his hand in mine, and we hold hands sitting close together. Sherry alternately sulks and snuffles at her exile.

Now, what's happened in the movie? Oh for the luv of GOD, is that a new character?! Who IS it? We are 30 minutes into the movie.

Broccoli or kids... no thanks, I'm trying to cut back.

Shame, frustration, rage, resentment... they all build and simmer in a vile stew of soul-poisoning ROT.I have a shameful secret. A secret I dare not share with the man I love. A secret I can't discuss in polite society with NORMAL people. With NICE people. I don't like children. Some folks don't like broccoli; I don't like children. And yet, it's okay to dislike broccoli, but if you admit you dislike children, you're seen as some kind of twisted psycho... the kind of person who pulls the wings off flies when they think nobody is watching.

Yeah, well... I do NOT pull the wings off flies--never have. So what's wrong? What component is missing in me... or so badly warped that it might as well be missing? How can I MAKE myself be "good with children?" How can I MAKE myself be what I'm not? Don't mistake this for a lack of love. I LOVE the children dearly. I even LIKE them, far beyond the extent to which I've ever liked any children but my own. But I'm not "good" with them. I'm not a patient person. I'm not a nurturing person. I'm not even very cuddly. I crave solitude and peace even more than I crave adult friendships (which I miss fiercely). And... I crave the passion and all-encompassing feeling of love that I had... BC. Before children.

My heart and my mind ache with this burden... with this shameful secret I cannot share. There is no one to whom I can talk. No one with whom I can unburden myself. And my heart grows weary from the solitude and the shame... and the poisoning continues ... steadily... inescapably.

She asks me if she can come in and watch whatever I have on the office TV. Against my better judgment, I agree, with the stipulation that she be quiet. (I'm trying desperately to locate a particular childrens' book on the internet, and not having much luck.) Into the room she comes... and the yapping begins. Non-stop yapping. Running commentary... verbal diarreah, an endless barrage of free-association made audible and inflicted on my ears and mind. My concentration is shot.

This is what happened next...
I turn to her, trying desperately to hold my temper and frustration in check, and say, "Sherry? Honey, could you please be quiet? I'm trying to do something, here." "Okay," she tells me brightly. Then the silence hangs between us, like a brittle glass thread... and SNAP! The silence is broken and the yapping resumes... without end... without thought... without even, seemingly, her BREATHING. The fragile silence lasted less than two minutes.

I snap my head 'round, teeth clenched, and not wanting to frighten or make her cry, squeeze out the words, "Sherry honey, can you PLEASE be quiet?" She stands, looks at me with sad blue eyes. I have failed her. And she begins to shuffle out of the room. "Sherry," I say to her, "Why do you feel you have to leave?" And the answer comes from her bowed head, "I don't think I CAN be quiet."

"Sherry, sit down in the chair, honey, and look at me." She obeys.
"What color are your eyes?" "Blue."
"Can you change that?" "No," head shaking.
"What color is the sky tonight?" "Black."
"Can you change THAT?" Head shaking again, "No."
"Exactly, honey, you can't change those things because you can't control them. They're outside your and my areas of control. But your MOUTH you do control. 'Not being able to be quiet' isn't a reasonable thing, Sherry. It's like saying you can't control yourself, and I know better than that because you're such a big girl and becoming such a young lady. You CAN control your own self, can't you, honey?" Nodding, "Yes." "Good, then let's try it again."

And this time the silence isn't so brittle... this time the silence is her choice and it lasts for a full five minutes before I tell her how wonderfully she's doing. And this time we smile at each other because we know we've MADE this happen. I'm redeemed... however poorly and however briefly.

This is what didn't happen...
My head snaps 'round, eyes blazing, and she stops midsentence, startled by my obvious anger. "SHUT UP!" I scream, "Can't you?! Can't you just SHUT THE FUCK UP? It's EASY! Close your LIPS and don't open them! It's THAT GODDAMN SIMPLE!" Tears stream down her face and her small shoulders begin to shake with suppressed sobs. She hurries out of the room... not chastised, but verbally beaten. This happens in my mind and it feels real. I have failed yet again.