This was odd because our kids were actually being pretty
good, but more so because she was seated about 20 inches away from Cookie.
Have you ever heard this sort of enlightened condescension
about either married or family life? I
know we in the married-with-children camp do our share of inexcusable
condescending too, but I’m thinking now only of a particular brand of “I’ve
transcended tradition and built a blithe world of Me.” When I am confronted with this strain of
modernity, I am struck less by offense than something between amusement and
pity, and much harder to describe.
Like how no argument could convince that girl that missing
easy evenings out without the hassle of babysitters or making permanent,
sacrificial adjustments to accommodate a spouse are to me what $200 dollars for
Jimmy Choos might be to her, except that I will still find my purchase fashionable
come fall. But I think I’ve thought of
a way to illustrate, at least to myself, our mutual lack of understanding.
It’s like a gardener who, spying around him neighbors
covered in dirt and sweat and laboring endlessly, thought, “I won’t be such a
fool!” and set about covering his plot of earth with Astroturf. He filled pots and beds with silk flowers
and gazed about in satisfaction, then leaned back in a hammock with a pina
colada, and applauded his ingenuity, imagining the envy of his neighbors.
The other gardeners looked up, each in turn as they paused
from their work, and noticed the spray of color and their neighbor in
repose. Then, each in his turn went
back to his work of tilling and planting, watering and pruning. The gardener in his hammock was mildly
surprised that the others failed to follow in his pursuit of solitary pleasure. And his neighbors were mildly surprised that
he would content himself with pigmented silk when the fruits of their labors
were sweet and living.
