Friday, May 14, 2010
Would You Do It For A Scooby Snack?/ Serious question time UPDATE
We have this magnet up on our fridge. It's a Scooby Doo magnet. It dates back to before the kids were born. Well before. It was a simpler time. An experimental time. A time in my life when "passing a piss test" meant "not taking a piss test."
I had to stop all that for a job as a mailman though, and then the babies came, and so that was that. Now, I often forget that that magnet is up there.
So imagine my surprise when the peanut came downstairs, sat in her chair at the kitchen table, and asked, "Daddy, can you get me close to some Scooby Doobies?"
"Can I get you close to some Scooby Doobies?" I exclaimed.
My wife burst out laughing.
I thought I wasn't going to have to have that conversation until she was at least 16. And preferably never.
My tiny, baby daughter visits her great aunt for a few hours about one evening a week. She loves it. They bake, and sing songs, and color, and dance, and play dress up, and eat, and bathe. All the things I'm too busy blogging to bother with, basically.
Two weeks ago, when I picked her up at her great aunt's house. my tiny, innocent, baby daughter had teeny weeny, eensy weensy, pink polished toenails. Her great-aunt (my wife's aunt) had painted them. I was displeased. I showed it in my face and tone, though I didn't make a big deal out of it. Because, it isn't really a big deal, right?
The next day, the great-aunt emailed my wife and asked if she'd seen the toes. My wife said yes, and then wrote words to the effect that the toes were ok, but that the great-aunt was absolutely not to do anything more drastic. Haircut, pierced ears, etc.
This had to be spelled out, because in my wife's family, it's traditional for the grandparents in the family, in our case this role is being partially fulfilled by the great aunt, to do whatever the hell they want to the grandkids. My wife's grandmother took her to get her ears pierced when she was one and a half without asking. Her grandfather used to shave the heads of the boys in the family all the time. Make-up, hair dyeing, teeth whitening, tattoos, plastic surgery, hair plugs, botox, high tech-fake fingerprints, tinted contacts. . . there is even a cousin with a cybernetic third limb. 3 Legge'd Steve, we call him. Nothing was off limits.
I went to pick the peanut up at the great-aunt's house the other night. This time she has teeny weeny, eensy weensy, pink fingernails. A little pushy, right? Like the aunt is playing a game of "I'm not touching you."
This time my wife wasn't happy either. The toes were ok with her, but not the fingers. She decided in the end though that the polish comes off, so no harm, no foul. I'm still worried because a little part of me is afraid that the great-aunt will continue to push her luck.
Can I ask you guys, would any of you have a problem with this? Am I being way uptight? I just don't think my little girl needs those sorts of gender markers this early in life. Does this make me a douche-bag? Oversensitive? A prick? An ivory tower asshole? Merely an overprotective dad? None of the above?
This post brought to you by Fatherhood Fridays at dad-blogs.com
Thanks for all the thoughtful comments you guys. I really appreciate it. Most of you folks have been really kind and honest and cool. Couple of you--meh. I mean, seriously. Meh. I'm not saying who. Don't try to find out. Now, I'm shaking my head. Now, I'm getting excited because the coffee is almost ready. Now, I'm blowing my nose. Allergies.
Also, in the interest of fairness, he great aunt is really very loving and wonderful with the Peanut. They love each other like crazy. Finally, I'm writing this at 5:51 am before I've had coffee. I take no responsibility for typos or anything else. Thanks again everyone.