Parents, if we are lucky, get to answer a lot of questions from our kids. Sometimes, a question is as simple as a request for a refill of the water glass. Sometimes they are annoyances, like when I provide what I think is a definitive answer to a simple question, and then my son proceeds to operate in an infinite loop and asking “Why?” to each of my subsequent answers. Until I pull the plug with “Because.”
“Because. I’m your dad.”
In talking with my dad and asking him questions, I have learned a few things, and, of course, I wish to truly help educate my boy the same. Take the other evening, when Seb and I went on a short drive together down the street. After dropping off the rent at the landlord’s house, we returned home. I pressed the garage door opener and steered the car into the garage. “Hey, Dad, why are kids not supposed to press the buttons?” Seb asked, referring to those that operate the mapping and navigation system in our small SUV.
On the surface, this seems like one of those simple questions that has a simple answer followed by a hearty, self-righteous chuckle, like, “Well, Seb, if you press the wrong button, we might end up driving into the wrong garage.”
You know, during this teachable moment in our relationship, I did not quite know what to say to this interesting question. Perhaps, because I myself did not grow up pressing a lot of buttons. Thus, without a reservoir of experience learned via trial and error of button pressing, I could not ad lib an explanation. A telephone keypad, a doorbell, the tiny pinhead calculator stopwatch reset button, and an automagic garage door opener are all the buttons I had growing up. At worst, I pressed the doorbell of a neighbor’s home, ran, hid and was later seen by the neighbor as he peered from his front porch into nearby bushes.
And so, I answered, “First, kids need to learn why we press the buttons. Then, kids will know which buttons need to be pressed. And at which time, too, by the way.”
By the way, at midnight one evening a week before, I awoke to the sound of an alarm screeching throughout the house. First, I stood up, frightened and ran down the dark hallway toward a blinking iPhone. Then, I swiped my finger across the screen to shut it off, located the alarm system via touchscreen menu and switched it off with my fingertip forever. Two hours later, Amelia woke us up screaming, and then again two hours after that. Groggy for the rest of the day, I probably haphazardly pressed a few buttons that should not have been pressed.
Buttons, like them or not, dominate my existence, as they operate the numerous tools, accessories, appliances, toys and other recreational systems that orbit our family. Seb is learning to press them and thereby disrupt my sanity, yet, I admit, maybe I do want him to press the buttons, turn things on and off, and explore the machinery of modern life as we know it. Of course, without calling my boss on his cell phone at 9:17 P.M. on Sunday, exploding the microwave, or backing the car into the garage door.
The Meandering Sidewalk 