Teach Them To Your Children

Parenting is an amazing role.

I know, everyone says it, there are books stacked to the moon and back saying so, countless TV programmes, and endless movies. Normally the more something is professed the less likely I am to believe it. But at least as far as the species-wide conviction that there is "something sacred in raising a child" goes I have downed vast quantities of the Kool Aid.

The Small Boy daily amazes me, and I am delighted to be amazed again. For a while there I was having symptoms of overdose, but I seem to have modified my doses and found equilibrium in my blood levels (due in no small part to his being in preschool now).

Raising a child takes a village. I loved Hillary Rodham-Clinton's much-maligned book (1996 - Simon & Schuster) and the past two and a half years have only cemented the conviction that you can't go it alone. We loved our daycare in Auckland. It was secular, multi-cultural, mainstream New Zealand at it's best. They loved our kids and they fed and taught them well. The Small Boy grew like a weed with their nurturing. We were sad to say good-bye to them.

The small boy started Jewish preschool two weeks ago. The pre-school is affiliated with the synagogue where the Boy works, and is a wonderful place. Yep, I have that flavor of Kool Aid on my breath, too. But it seriously is fantastic. Warm, inviting, joyous, accepting, and Jewish. I know that "that" should make such a huge difference, but it does.

On the way home this afternoon the Small Boy sang away to himself as he usually does, only this time it was different, he was singing Shabbat songs. Songs that he had just sung with his classmates (and the rest of the preschool) at their weekly pre-Shabbat song and story session with the Rabbi (read "Daddy") and Cantorial Soloist. Tonight as we made Kiddush together marking the arrival of Shabbat the Small Boy piped up and sang - albeit a little muddled - the appropriate blessings for the candles, wine and bread.

Good stuff, stuff that makes me feel like we are doing all right by him, and raising a Mensch!

Shabbat Shalom, Small Boy. Your Abba loves you.

So, the blog had slowed to a near halt while I was in New Zealand. Perhaps I didn’t have anything to say, perhaps I was busy doing vs. observing? I’m not quite sure. Perhaps I don’t see so well in my natural environment?
So now I am a foreigner again. I am – proverbially – a fish out of water (or – for those who speak te reo - is that a tuna out of wai?). We are now living in the greater Phoenix area and settling into a whole new world. Yes, you’re right, I have lived “here” before, but my previous “here” is quite different from my current one.
Phoenix is a sprawling metropolis in the middle of a wide valley. From the balcony of our furnished rental we can see distant mountain ranges. It’s hotter than Hades, but there is something cozy about it. The Boy has started a new gig and the kid has started a new preschool (as of this week). I’m in the middle of having my license endorsed which for anyone who has done it before makes you a victim of a bureaucratic snail’s pace.
I’ve started exploring on my own, finding my way around town, and seeing a few movies. Which is where I am going with this post…
Today I decided to see the new ”Planet of the Apes” movie. I’ve been a fan of POTA since seeing Charlton Heston collapsing in front of a shattered lady liberty, and being glued to the ‘70s TV series. The new film is an absolute CGI-fest of apes rising to take over Muir Woods. It’s pretty full-on, suspenseful and violent. A whole lot of big apes with big teeth. Throwing people off the Golden gate Bridge, that kinda stuff.
So I gotta ask. Is it really a good parenting choice to bring your preschoolers with you to see this one. Okay, it’s hot out, it’s eleven in the morning, and the kid gets in free. But seriously, this is smart? Seriously?
The kids (there were two sets of them with their parents) were well behaved, and there was no screaming. But it just doesn’t strike me as the kind of thing a smart parent exposes their kid to. I bit my tongue and merely scowled in the darkness. I know, I’m a pussy, but it didn’t seem like an appropriate - or particularly desirable - interaction to have.
I must admit I have been witness to a few questionable parenting choices when I’ve been out and about. Target has to be the best place to observe. Maybe it’s the wide aisles and big red shopping carts that bring out the worst (?) in people. I dunno. Perhaps it’s also a difference in how loud Americans talk to the people they are out with; I think there is a general sense that people talk as loud as they want and about whatever they like when they are out in public. People say some crazy shit to their kids.
So, there you have it for my first attempt at kick starting the blog.