Isn't a kid alive who doesn't dream about rewarding her folks, or punishing them.
When you become a parent, one thing becomes really clear. And that is that you want to make sure your children feel safe.
And there, in small warm pools of lamplight, you could see what Leo Auffmann wanted you to see. There sat Saul and Marshall, playing chess at the coffee table. In the dining room Rebecca was laying out the silver. Naomi was cutting paper-doll dresses. Ruth was painting water colors. Joseph was running his electric train. Through the kitchen door, Lena Auffmann was sliding a pot roast from the steaming oven. Every hand, every head, every mouth made a big or little motion. You could hear their faraway voices under glass. You could hear someone singing in a high sweet voice. You could smell bread baking, too, and you knew it was real bread that would soon be covered with real butter. Everything was there and it was working.
I have no defense, except that until I get to know someone really well, it's easier for me to be a normal, single guy. Because it's way too complicated to be who I really am. I'm a full-time dad. I'm a working parent. I'm a mother and a father. I'm a guy who reads parenting books and cookbooks before I go to sleep. I spend my weekends buying tutus. I'm learning to sew. I'm Mr. Napkin Head. I'm on some kind of constant overload and it helps to compartmentalize my life. Just till I figure this out.
Kids, she says. When they’re little, they believe everything you tell them about the world. As a mother, you’re the world almanac and the encyclopedia and the dictionary and the Bible, all rolled up together. But after they hit some magic age, it’s just the opposite. After that, you’re either a liar or a fool or a villain.
...and putting her arms up and making these little noises which basically mean: "Put me on your lap and read me a story now, you funny old fucker. I don’t care if you’re meant to be weird. I don’t care if you’re meant to be scary. I don’t care what anybody thinks about you. I want a story and I want it now".
Kids are never the problem. They are born scientists. The problem is always the adults. They beat the curiosity out of the kids. They out-number kids. They vote. They wield resources. That's why my public focus is primarily adults.
Hair is vitally personal to children. They weep vigorously when it is cut for the first time; no matter how it grows, bushy, straight or curly, they feel they are being shorn of a part of their personality.
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