DADWAGON

It’s 3:45 in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Neither can Sasha—we’re both jetlagged after a remarkably smooth 14-hour flight home from Taipei. (She slept!)

Which means it’s playtime! Sasha’s brought home a singing green caterpillar (a gift from her cousin), and she happily stomps on it, producing musical bleeps and blurps while I sip the first good cup of coffee I’ve had in two weeks. At one point, Sasha points at me and says, “Baba!” That’s me—Baba. How nice.

But that’s not what brings me to the point of lachrymosity. It’s a few minutes later, when I’m trying to read this week’s New York Magazine. Sasha climbs up on the couch, crawls onto my lap and, in reaching up to defile the publication (as is her weekly routine), she grabs my shirt and gives me… a purple nurple! A painful one, too. Ow ow ow! She giggles through her pacifier, a big dimple-making smile. Thanks, kid.

I don’t actually cry, though. (If I did, we’d have to change the name of this feature.) A childhood familiarity with bullies taught me to tough that shit out.

But then, minutes later, Sasha’s crawling back across the couch to reach some toy when she falls backwards onto the floor, bonking her head (a daily routine, alas). Tears! I pick her up, comfort her as best I can, and then lie down on the couch, kid clinging to my chest, and there’s one of those rare moments when she relaxes and just rests there.

Of course, I’m wired on caffeine, so no relaxing for me! Every couple of minutes, I check to make sure she’s still unconcussed and alive. She is.

Sesame Street, like the rest of America, is somehow compelled to appease the cable-news outrage machine. No, O’Reilly is not an “esteemed anchor” (although, in the tradition of Walter Cranky and Dan Rather-Not, this parody is, I suppose, both flattery and insult):

Perhaps I shouldn’t allow myself to descend into print world geekery (no, I should be worried about diapers, swine flu, the demise of the middle class education, pre-teen sex, kidnapping, and all the other joys of parenting–who has time to read?), but I just thought a little attention should be paid to the passing of Gourmet. Bon Appétit, which survived the Conde Nast bloodbath, simply is no substitute for serious writers looking to slum on the man’s dime.

Case in point: “5 Tips for Dining Out with Kids”:

1.New parents, listen up: When your baby can’t talk or walk, put him or her in a sling and get thee to a restaurant as often as you wish. People will ooh and aah at your bravery–as well as at the baby.

2.Choose your restaurant wisely. Go on the early side and avoid weekends. Brunch was invented for families–alcohol for mom and dad, and pancakes with smiley faces for kids. Many top-notch places now have kids’ menus that go beyond the nugget, grilled cheese, and buttered-pasta triple threat.

3.Introduce your kids to new flavors. Asian restaurants, especially Vietnamese, Chinese, and Thai ones, are often casual, full of big tables of families, and loud. Small-plate restaurants, like Spanish tapas places, allow easy sharing (and if things go south quickly, you can make an exit without having to cancel your entrée order).

4.Adults get toys (cell phones, PDAs) to play with at the table, so kids should, too–but keep handheld video games on mute.

5.Bring a small snack to tide your little one over immediately after you sit down. But if said snack ends up all over the floor, it’s your responsibility to clean it up–not the waitstaff’s.

Granted, like all cheesy national magazines tied to fading ad revenue, Bon Appétit has to pander to the lowest common demoninator. But could whoever wrote this little tidbit perhaps have spent, I don’t know, two minutes thinking up something interesting to say? “New flavors?” New flavors! What good are new flavors when Lil’ Johnny smacks the waitress upside the head with a bottle of Grey Poupon?

Wait. I think that was me.

A few words from Amy Aikon of the Los Angeles Times that I thought related to an earlier post by our good friend Matt (see “Monster Dad Abuses Child, Writes About It”). Aikon relates the story of a Thanksgiving holiday ride that was screwed up by an ill-behaved two-year-old named Adam. The kid screamed so much during takeoff that the security announcements couldn’t be made. The pilot took the plane back to the airport, kicked mom and Adam off. Mom and Adam complained and were later issued an apology and a free ticket voucher. Aikon seems to want to know where her free ticket is:

There is a notion…that other passengers should “just deal” and “give a kid a break.” This notion is wrong. Parents who selfishly force the rest of us to pay the cost of their choices in life aren’t just bothering us; they’re stealing from us. Most people don’t see it this way, because what they’re stealing isn’t a thing we can grab on to, like a wallet. They’re stealing our attention, our time and our peace of mind.

Methinks that what we have here on display here is a classic example of the “Fallacy of false comparison.”. To wit: yes, Adam should be shot, his mother drawn and quartered, and her body parts distributed to the other passengers on the plane, along with the vouchers. He is a bad boy and she is a bad mom (I guess). But one bad Adam does not translate into all parents who fly with their children being selfish.

What about the asshole who is so fat he takes up half of my seat? Should we kill him too? Or the chick with the i-thingie on full blast listening to the Crystal Method on the 6am flight? Dead! Or the stewardess on the flight from Quebec who screamed at a teenager to “speak English! You know you can!” Obliterate!

The point (I hope) I’m trying to make is that babies have no monopoly on being uncooperative in public spaces. I don’t travel all that much, but when I do, I realize how much I hate my fellow man. The planet should be emptied of all humans so that I can get some rest on the red-eye.

All this made me think of my good friend Matt, and his little bit on driving to D.C. with Sasha. I’ve met Sasha, and while I would be happy to burn Matt at the stake for flight transgressions both large and small, would I really be willing to take it out on Sasha? Seems unfair to me.