I’ve noticed that pretty much everybody brags on their kids. For me, it’s different. My daughter really really is perfect. At 5 years old she is tall, lean, platinum blonde, and beautiful. She is beautiful not in the way all little kids are beautiful, but in that rare way that you can recognize as truly stunning and lifelong beauty.
I know I’m not just seeing her with a father’s eye, because my usual reaction upon beholding my daughter’s beauty is to look at my wife with suspicion. She has brown hair. I have indeterminate but brownish hair. Platinum blonde kid? Hmmm. She certainly didn’t get her looks from me.
She can read, and she’s very smart, and she’s polite and has always been well-behaved. When I used to remark on this, my wife would say “It’s because we’ve raised her right,” and we would both be proud.
But, to me, the most stunning thing about my daughter is her decency. She is just always consistently decent and nice and good, yet at the same time she is never a pushover. She won’t be taken advantage of.
When you grew up, do you remember that kid in school that was just super popular and deserved it? No matter who you were, you literally thought of that kid as your best friend, as did everybody else.
My daughter is that kid. Wherever she goes, she leads a group of kids, some older, some younger, but she leads them well. She leads them with respect, and they listen to her because they like her and they recognize something in her. She has a highly developed sense of justice and fairplay. I have a punching dummy for boxing, but I’m no longer allowed to punch it because that would be “mean.”
For example, one time we were up at the pool and some kid found a frog and told my daughter about it. She came over with the crowd, and congratulated the kid on his find, then, under my daughter’s direction they moved the frog under a picnic table (so it would have shade) and proceeded to construct a magic kingdom fro the frog to inhabit (complete with a back story about how the frog was actually a Prince.)
A brain storming session was held to determine what they could do for the frog:
“We could build it a castle” said one.
“Frogs like water, we’ll need a pond,” said another.
“We can put leaves around the frog.”
“We can help it and be its friend”
“We could love the frog”
As all this was going on, this one boy was listening to the brainstorming session, and he clearly wanted to get involved, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything. Finally, “We could… kill it?” He offered.
Now I was there, and I can testify that this was offered without malice. Clearly this kid was listening to all these potential alternatives, he noticed an ommission and was just saying… you know, raising the possibility for consideration… throwing it out there.
The reaction from the group though was very strong. They berated him and yelled at him and called him mean and stupid and the kid left crying.
After a minute or to, my daughter left the group though she was very interested in the frog. She went over to the young boy and they started playing in the sandbox. Soon the kid was happy again. They found one of those plastic buckets that you fill with sand and then flip over and it creates an instant castle. They walked back to the group with the kid carrying the sand in the castle mold thing.
“Look everybody, Jerry’s going to make the castle for the frog.” Everybody was suddenly into that and Jerry was very happy as he made the castle. But I’d seen who’s idea it was, and seen how my daughter managed the situation.
It’s a true story, and it boggles my mind, because she does things like this all the time. She makes a lasting positive impression on everyone she meets. She is always sensitive to other people’s feelings. She is just truly good and decent and other parents hold her up as an example for their children. I am very proud.
We raised her right.
On the other hand, there is evidence to suggest that we have nothing to do with the personality of her eldest.
That evidence is nicknamed “Bug.” or “Evil.” Yes, her nickname really is evil, and nobody laughs. As my eldest is a child of light, Bug is a child of darkness.
While my eldest has pale skin, bug is… dark. Her skin is a reddish, tannish, swarthyish kind of color. Unlike any caucasion child with dark skin I’ve seen, Bug has flaming… and I mean flaming dark red hair. Like blood.
Again with the suspicious looks towards my wife. Neither of us have dark skin or red hair. But, nevertheless, I’m pretty sure I’ve made a genetic contribution to Bug. I have green eyes. People have told me that I my eyes change color (like a mood ring and many times people have said I have “crazy eyes.” I’ve looked in the mirror and they look normal and unexceptional to me.
Bug has green eyes that change color. To see her look at me or to watch her eyes as she plays, it is clear… Crazy Eyes. Now I understand (my angelic eldest has dark rich milk chocolately brown eyes that shine with warmth.) My Crazy Eyes in Bug’s face shine with a cold malevolent humor.
When Bug was barely a year old, she picked up a mop, and started to play-mop the floor. I thought this was cute and ran to get the camera. When I had the shot set up, I called to her.
She looked at me, and gave me the finger.
I swear to God this is true. I can prove it. I snapped the shutter. I have the picture. I’ve studied the expression on her face. There is no question about it. She is giving me the bird. Her face unmistakeably says “Fuck you Dad, I’m mopping.” Nobody taught her this.
Her favorite toy is a crab mallett, with which she likes to bonk things. Living things.
We didn’t worry about this too much, cause she was just a baby. Now though, she is nearing two. Also, she has a great sense of humor. She is always smiling and laughing.
Now though, something is a little disturbing about the laugh. You feel like she is laughing because she knows something… she knows something about your mother… she knows something about your mother, and she’s not telling.
Yet.
I came home on a very hot day from a jog and peeled off my shirt and sat on a stool sweating. Bug was eating a popsicle (She pretty much refuses to eat anything but popsicles and Slim Jims. Lest you think we are bad parents for feeding our child such crap, let me say that after the second day when your child refuses to eat… you two will surrender and give her the Slim Jim.)
Bug snuck up behind me, stuck the popsicle in my gut, and made a “Chhhhhsssssssh,” sound (like putting a hot iron in a bucket of water.) I jumped six feet in the air, and Bug ran off laughing “HEh, heh, heh, heh, heh!”
Nobody taught her that.
My wife who always claimed “our” great parenting skill were responsible for our eldest’s sweet and kind disposition has changed her tune. Apparently “she” has raised our eldest, and I am responsible for Bug’s disposition.
At the pool, she will walk up to the snack bar window and throw a fit. It is a horrible thing to behold. Everybody will look up, see it is her and quickly look away. The hapless teenage snot at the window will behold this fit in a panic. Immediately he will start showing Bug popsicles in a panic.
He is panicking because there are fifty different kinds of popsicles and he knows that chances are he will show her the wrong one. When he does, she throws an even bigger fit.
Than the supervisor will start yelling at him “A bomb pop? What are you an idiot? She’s gonna blow! Quickly man, get a Nutty Buddy!”
The boy will show her the Nutty Buddy and Bug will scream shrilly with even more anger.
“It’s not working!” He’ll scream.
Finally, after 20 different popsicles are displayed my daughter will accept a Spider Man popsicle and walk away, leaving the boy shuddering.
You may not believe this, but we’ve instructed the staff not to give Bug popsicles without our permission. We think she eats too many, and we don’t want her to be spoiled.
Believe me. Every single time, they give her the popsicle. They’re more afraid of her.
One time we left the pool, and she was holding a pool toy. “I’m sorry,” my wife says. “I guess we’re taking this toy with us.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t leave the pool area with the pool toys,” replies the pool director.
“Ok,” says my wife. “You take it from her.”
The pool director looks at my daughter with fear and says “No. That’s ok. Just go ahead.”
She has no fear. I mean she is truly and literally without fear. She jumps off the diving board with her wings, laughing. I have a picture of her going down a slide headfirst. Her expression is clear. She looks like a Valkyrie screaming a fearsome battle cry.
She does everything this way.
She has other nicknames. My best friend, the Dr. who delivered her calls her “Hellion.”
It has occured to me that somewhere in the distant future a battle wil be fought between the forces of darkness and the forces of light. I speculate with more than a little seriousness that my daughters will each be commanding a side in this conflict.
