Forgotten Wisdom
I am sorry to say that everyone was totally wrong. I’m talking about all those folks who had children before me who told me what to expect, how I should handle things, and how my life would change with kids. You thought you were giving me the essential secrets of parenting. You thought you were preparing me for life with kids.
You were wrong.
You left out some things that turned out to be important. So, I’m writing to set the record straight. These are the true essential facts about kids and parenting.
Fact 1: Everything Is Chicken. It is well known that all flavors of meat are variants of chicken. Before having kids I thought this wisdom was cultural. Wrong. It’s genetic. Kids who can barely talk already know it.
My younger child loves eating fish and has since she could eat. At restaurants she asks for fish by name. She calls it “fish.” We order her fish. When it comes we call it “fish” too and give her a lump of fish to eat. Upon finishing her portion of fish she always says, “Want more chicken.” Same for beef, pork, or any other meat.
Apparently the class of food that seems like chicken is broader than the flesh of dead animals. True story: one morning at breakfast the little one (age 2) asked her older sister (age 5), “What is that? Chicken?” Her sister explained that no, it is a strawberry. The little one says, “Strawberry? That must be yummy chicken for you!”
Fact 2: Childhood Is a Series of Mental Disorders. Kids will drive you crazy. It is easy for them. They’re already crazy. But they are a special form of crazy that is a different kind of bonkers every few months. They ricochet from bipolar to passive aggressive to agraphobic to ADD to OCD and back again. They’re like little in-home productions of the DSM. I didn’t know it was a screenplay.
Fact 3: A Pound of Food Has Three Pounds of Crumbs. Yes, kids are nuts. But even more than that, they are nuts with crumbs. Nobody tells you about the crumbs. In an apparent violation of the laws of physics, every meal generates enough crumbs for three more meals. Actually, some meals have, stunningly, even higher crumb yields, in particular those involving: rice, bread, any baked good, or grated cheese. I don’t even know why I make myself a plate of food. I could easily sustain myself on my kids’ crumbs.
Fact 4: Disposable Diapers Don’t Perform Well in the Washing Machine. This, by far, is the most important parenting advice you’ll ever receive: don’t let disposable diapers get in the washing machine. The only thing worse than a disposable diaper in the wash is two disposable diapers in the wash. This I know from first hand experience. It isn’t the poop or pee that makes it so bad. That’s got nothing to do with it. It’s the goo inside the diapers.
Diapers are designed to absorb liquid, a lot of it, but not tens of gallons of water. When a diaper reaches its carrying capacity it does what anybody who has had too much to drink would do: explode. Upon detonation, all the nice liquid absorbing goo inside the diaper begins to slosh around the washing machine.
Do you know what that goo does in the wash? It turns into goo pellets. Goo pellets are paradoxically both a solid spherical pellet and a glob of gooey jell. Like the dual wave/particle nature of light, diaper goo pellets have perplexed physicists for centuries. The only things physicists have figured out about goo pellets is that they (a) absorb a lot of pee and (b) adhere readily to the inside walls of a washing machine.
If the goo pellets would make up their mind and just be sold pellet or liquid goo one could clean them up easily. But no. They hang playfully in a state of superposition: impossible to wipe or wash away, but very easy to smear around. Believe me, a diaper (or two) in the wash makes for a bad day. Should you be so unfortunate to drop three or more into a load do yourself a favor and just throw away the machine.
These four facts are all a person needs to be prepared for parenting. Since the species has, apparently, existed for millennia it may be that our ancestors once knew some of these pearls of wisdom. Somehow in our modern age they have been lost. Having now brought them to your attention, I leave it to you to share them with your friends who fancy themselves as future parents. They won’t believe these tidbits are important, but they’ll thank you later.
The American Community Survey
I’ve just completed the American Community Survey (ACS) questionnaire. The ACS is a Census Bureau survey and recipients of it are required by law to complete it. That’s a good move on their part. It definitely got my attention and motivated me to complete the survey, and quickly.
[ Begin mini-rant: It is a sad fact that surveys are expensive and hard to do well, in part due to the rational temptation by many to ignore them. Because I understand the value of data for social science and the challenges of collection of voluntary data, I also support the use of administratively collected (non-survey) data for research. Administrative data don't suffer from the response rate issues that surveys do, though they have other weaknesses. And use of administrative data does raise privacy concerns (as does survey data use). My threshold for privacy concerns is much higher than most. In general, I'd like to see greater ability for researchers to access, combine, and analyze data so long as they are de-identified whenever possible and there are strong yet reasonable penalties (with enforcement) for misuse and sound, workable remedies for those who might be harmed by such. As a country we have a long way to go in terms of sensible collection and use of data for research and penalties/remedies in the case of misuse. End mini-rant. ]
Anyway, my favorite part of completing the ACS questionnaire was thinking about the questions pertaining to the mental and physical abilities of my five year old daughter. The questions caused me to ponder:
- Do her emotions pose difficulties for concentrating, remembering, and reasoning? (It would be a rare five year old for whom emotions did not play precisely that role.)
- Is she really independent in dressing or bathing if her parents need to occasionally remind her to do them, help her into and out of a shirt or boot, and rinse the shampoo from her hair?
From my work with survey data, I do know what the ACS designer’s were getting at with their mental and physical functioning questions, so I answered “no” to questions about my daughter’s difficulty in these areas. But still, this illustrates one of many ways in which survey response errors arise. It just isn’t crystal clear what is meant by some questions.
The questions on income also reveal issues. There is no suggestion that one should pull out a pay stub, a bill, or tax return. I answered the questions from memory in very round figures which I am sure are close but not exactly right. No doubt many people have absolutely no idea what they pay per year for water and sewer services, or how much interest and dividend income they receive annually. These data have got to be very imprecise and, worse, possibly biased.
I’ve been aware for years about errors and bias in survey responses. I’ve just never been on the other side of the data. This was my first time completing the ACS or anything like it. I know it isn’t easy to design good surveys that don’t cost a fortune to implement. Now I can see quite clearly that you get what you pay for.
(Oh, and two more things. Could the designers of the ACS please send a larger return envelope? I had a hell of a time getting the survey into the return envelope without ripping it. Finally, it wasn’t necessary to send two surveys. I know why they did–to increase response rates–but I had returned my first several weeks before receiving the second. Now I wonder, did they get the first? No, I’m not filling it out twice!)
Notions of Notability
Lovers of the process of conflict resolution should pay attention to Wikipedia. In particular, try to find an entry ensnared in some debate over its legitimacy. An argument about what constitutes the notable will likely ensue. Philosophically, this is an interesting question. (Actually co-blogger Steve and I have discussed it, but not on this blog.)
In a sea of internet-based information, how does one judge or learn (or teach) how to judge what is worth paying attention to or what is notable? This is a very tough question. There are myriad signals one can use to inform one’s basis for relevance and importance. Among them are association with or endorsement by institutions or individuals of prominence and credibility.
That’s essentially attribute substitution at work. (Steve and I have a paper centered on the behavioral economics version of that concept.) But what is a “prominent” and “credible” institution or individual? And what constitutes “endorsement”? On the first question, we each have our own list. Many people count Fox News among the “prominent” and “credible.” Others reject it as such.
So we’re clearly interpreting the source of signals differently. And we can’t judge the information based on the signals of its source until we judge the source itself. Where does that judgment come from? That’s a thorny question I’ll side step at the moment. I’ll just note that we obviously cannot discount our heritage, upbringing, communities, and self-interest in addressing it.
Suppose we just assert that we have some sensible way of arriving at a list of prominent, credible institutions and people. We then, more or less, trust in some fashion (but verify when warranted, whatever that means) what those institutions and individuals say and endorse. The real question at the heart of a current debate on Wikipedia I’m observing is, what constitutes endorsement? In what fashion must an individual or institution of prominence and credibility mention something in order for that that something to be deemed “notable”?
To some, that something must itself be the explicit subject of discussion in order to confer notability. It isn’t sufficient that the thing be merely used (e.g. cited or quoted), it must itself be described and discussed by the prominent and credible source. That’s a perfectly reasonable definition of notability. But it does mean that one’s work can amass a great volume of references and be put to tremendous use without it becoming notable. It isn’t notable until someone or some institution of import says, “You know that thing we use/cite/quote a lot? Now I’m going to finally explicitly tell you how useful and good it is. …”
Alternatively, under the definition of notability just described, a thing can be notable without ever being put to use. In practice I think this is rare. Hence, the notable are nearly always useful, but the useful not always notable. That narrows the domain of Wikipedia-worthy entries, which is no doubt viewed by many as one of the attractive features of the foregoing notion of notability.
In my own life, I certainly rely on that definition of notability. There are a great many things to which I would not give a moment’s notice were it not for the explicit endorsement by an individual or institution I trust. Should I pay attention to the work of Dr. XYZ? If several colleagues I trust tell me she’s written a superb paper I will go read that paper and be predisposed to view it favorably. On the other hand, I notice when the same individual is quoted or cited a lot by others I trust. In time, I begin to trust that quoted/cited individual even if she is not or her work is not explicitly described and endorsed.
Thus, for me notability is attained in two ways. One way, the explicit endorsement, is the quickest route. One good word from a trusted source and the transfer of legitimacy has begun (though it is not inevitable or irreversible). The other way, an accretion of references, is slower. But it is also more robust if they come from a variety of sources. A dense web of citations and uses is compelling in a way that is hard to undo. Of course, coming to my own favorable opinion based on direct experience confers the most lasting impression. But is it not confounded with both my predisposition of favorability (ex ante attribute substitution) and my tendency to overvalue my own opinion which motivates the subconscious search for reinforcement (ex post confirmation bias)?
From beginning to end the process of determining the worth of a thing is infused with subjectivity and bias. In some domains science can guide thinking and clear away a substantial amount of likely hokum. But that only gets you so far. Thus, for Wikipedia, an objective definition of notability is critical. Yet for participants in Wikipedia debates on the matter there can be very little objective about it.
“Snow” Day
Schools were closed all across the Boston metro region today. My family figures for today’s “snow” day follow.
- Number of hours of school/after-school care missed: 8
- Number of hours of nanny-care missed: 8
- Number of hours of work missed (me): 4 (I did some from home)
- Number of hours of work missed (spouse): 4 (she was able to work the morning)
- Number of inches of snow accumulation as of this post (~3PM): 0.00000000
Oh well. One can’t expect perfect prediction. This was a particularly bad call though.
Barefoot Economics
It has been almost a year since I discovered and embraced the joy of barefoot running. Even as the East Coast braced for another blizzard, I seized the opportunity of a mild El Niño winter day here in the Pacific Northwest to reel off six miles on my lunch hour in the sneakers God gave me. In the cold and slop, I compromise with minimalist shoes like Vibram Fivefingers and Feelmax Niesas. Paradoxically — or so it might seem — since I stopped putting layers of cushioning and stabilizing materials between my foot and the ground, recurring overuse injuries to my hamstrings, calves, and knees that have dogged me for years have simply disappeared. As I near my one year barefoot/minimalist anniversary, I find myself logging thirty to forty miles a week and more on mostly hard, urban surfaces without pain or discomfort in nothing more than moccasins, and often less.
Like most recent converts to barefoot running, my worldview was tectonically altered by Chris MacDougall’s “Born to Run,” which for me was to fitness what Michael Pollan’s “Omnivore’s Dilemma” was to food. Woven in to a ripping good yarn about an ultramarathon duel between the preeminent distance runners of industrial civilization and a reclusive tribe of hard-drinking aboriginal superathletes from the Copper Canyons of Mexico (spoiler alert — the Indians win) is the compelling observation that modern humans had been running long distances barefoot or close to it for a hundred thousand years before the invention of the modern running shoe in the early 1970s. Packaged with that observation is the suggestion that the explosion of running-related injuries since that “innovation” might not be a coincidence.
Granting MacDougall’s thesis, an interesting economic disconnect is apparent. If running shoes not only fail to prevent injuries, but in fact cause and exacerbate them, then all the money that is spent on them is worse than wasted. Yet all that spending is counted as positive economic activity in the most influential measure of our nation’s aggregate welfare, gross domestic product. And the purchase of running shoes is surely just one of a multitude of transactions that count towards domestic product while contributing little to, and perhaps detracting from, actual welfare.
But snake oil is as old as suckers, and suckers do eventually wise up. Each scam, fad, or mania, must eventually run its course. Still, as the proverb says and behavioral economic research shows, there is a sucker born every minute. So some significant portion of any economy will inevitably be dedicated to the consumption of useless or harmful goods and services. The gap may be narrowed by consumer protection and education efforts, but it can never be closed. Knowing this, should maximizing GDP really be the unalloyed objective of economic policy?
This and other incongruities between GDP and actual welfare have motivated various efforts toward specifying alternative measures of beneficial economic activity for some time. None has yet gained a consensus among academics, much less policymakers. But in the meantime, as the miles of cool, springy grass and buttery-smooth concrete caress the densely-packed neurons of the soles of my amazing, durable, perfectly-evolved feet, I know that any measure that fails to account for my priceless euphoria cannot motivate policy that is well-calibrated to encouraging the truly excellent life.
A Political Amputation
This is a guest post authored by Jack Rodolico, a graduate student with College of the Atlantic in Bar Harbor, ME, focusing in environmental journalism. Though most of his stories for the Mount Desert Islander newspaper involve local marine issues, he also writes short stories and non-fiction essays. This is non-fiction.
My wife has a chronic health condition for which she needs constant, expensive care. The disease squirmed out of some dark hole and bit her and now she will sting for the rest of her life. She needs it all – pills, X-rays, doctors, specialists (insert “expensive doctors”), therapies, acupuncture, special foods, and maybe surgery someday. Big time surgery. Removing a major organ surgery. She is frequently in pain. On a scale of 1 to 10, I once saw it hit a 12. And then there’s the blood.
She is 27 years old.
Life is unpredictable and not necessarily fair. We can both accept this, even with a smile. What we cannot accept is a system of governance that has the power to help us, but is impotent because of its disorganization and discord.
I am not one to blame government for all my problems, or to say that government can or should fix all problems. But I am cognizant of the fact that health care cannot be fixed without major government intervention. Consider my wife, Christina.
Christina cannot get health insurance. We are too “rich” for Medicaid, we are too poor for private insurance. We are so deep in the middle we cannot get to either shore. If we get poorer, she could get Medicaid; but who would accept that as an option? If we get richer, we could afford health insurance; but this, too, is unlikely because at the current rate her medical debt is increasing we will most likely continue to break even. Besides, she has a preexisting condition, which means the health insurance companies won’t even let her in the door. Both of us are trying to finish a graduate degree to improve our job prospects, but this puts us deeper into debt (good debt, right?) and further away from health care we can afford. Plus, nowadays she cannot hold onto a job because of her erratic health status. This makes the option of employer provided insurance out of the question until her health stabilizes, if it stabilizes. If it were not for some very good luck and the financial support of family, we would be totally screwed – I imagine there are a lot of Americans who are.
And there we were – all of us – on the verge of a major health care overhaul. Something that would benefit those of us who are being torn in half by the system, who are being hustled like a kid in a pool hall. And what happened? Well, one Senator was elected – 1 out of 100.
At first I was disappointed, but after marinating I am angry. Not with the Senate race, that is. I honestly don’t care much either way; politics is, after all, a pendulum. I am utterly fed up with a system that can so easily cast aside what is necessary for so many people. I am fed up with everyone, from the top to the bottom.
I am frustrated by the Democrats, who supposedly had 90% of the bill figured out months ago. They squandered their time in disagreement, completely unable to compromise in a timely manner.
I am disgusted by the Republicans, who made a tactical decision to oppose health care reform as a means of grubbing for power.
I am disappointed with the President, who should still be out there selling and campaigning for health care. In fact, he never should have stopped after he made his address to Congress back in September.
I am appalled by the media, who by and large try to report simple facts before the competition does, or to report with more bells and whistles. Right now the media should be flooding the airwaves with stories about people who will get left out in the cold by anything other than aggressive reform. Instead they just report on what this Senator said, or what the President hinted at. They keep a scorecard.
I am fed up by a political system that is so dysfunctional that it can neither operate with a super-majority or with a balance of powers. Both political parties – Democrat and Republican – are endlessly posturing and jockeying for the next election. Everything they do seems to be either a desperate grasp for more power, or a pathetic attempt to hold onto it. The notion of compromise in order to come to a common solution is an abstraction to them, a lofty goal they talk about but never seriously work towards. And what is the result? One Senate seat – a single seat! – switches hands, and an entire year’s worth of deliberation, hard work, and the energy of a thousand suns is all extinguished by a tiny splash. I know that one seat represents more than one vote in many ways, and so it is not just one seat that changed hands. But that we allow it as a culture to represent so much is precisely what I am so fed up with.
And finally, I am really fed up with us – the American people. Are we really that short-sighted, that a few extra months of debate led to rampant uncertainty about the viability of a health care overhaul? Are we going to allow health care reform to sparkle and fade, leaving plenty of people far worse off than Christina to sit back and watch the market “fix” the problem? Is there a pill to cure our cultural ADD?
I don’t know – I’m still bewildered by the whole thing. Maybe something good will still come of this, whether in the near or distant future. But what it seems like now is that if Christina and I try to find her health insurance tomorrow or in a year, we will be in the same position we are in now. As I see it, there is very little I can do to change this.
With one exception, that is. Next time around, I am voting for a third party candidate. I hope we all come to our senses and use a scalpel to amputate our diseased political organ before my wife decides to excise her colon.
What to Wear?
My step-father is right: there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad attire. I’ve learned this first hand. I’m outdoors a lot more than the typical American, mostly walking to and from work. So I’ve got all manner of special gear for rain, ice, wind, cold, and heat.
On the hottest, most humid day I need very little. Four Five items will suffice: t-shirt, underwear, shorts, and sandals (counted as two items). On the coldest and windiest day (I’m talking sub-zero Fahrenheit), I wear about 400% more items. My old, grey, wool, turtleneck sweater is one of them. It is part of a layered, interlocking, heat-trapping wardrobe strategy involving (I kid not) twenty-one garments.
Naturally, the complex, interleaved tucking sequence takes a lot of time, involving first four layers on top, three on bottom, and two pairs of socks (count that as four items). Later, just before leaving the house I add shoes (two), two layers of gloves/mittens (four items), two hats, a face mask, and a jacket. If I expect ice underfoot I attach Yaktrax to my shoes. I’ve learned not to wear my glasses. They conduct the cold, numbing my nose and ears.
That my appendages pass through the right openings in the proper order and with all clothing orientated correctly and right-side out is a topological miracle. That I remember to pee first is a blessing.
Then out I go into the dawn for the kind of walk that can only be enjoyed at a brisk pace through the kind of cold that makes you strangely aware of your sinuses. The ejected contents of my contracted tear ducts freeze in perfect tiny spheres to the ends of my eyelashes. Steam from my breath, trapped by my face mask, frosts my beard. Yet I do not feel cold, mummified in myriad layers of clothing and moving at an aerobic pace.
With the knowledge of what to wear I rarely feel unprepared and am generally not concerned about or deterred by the weather. The biggest enemy is lack of information or a bad forecast. Should the expected o-degree day really be a 15-degree one I’ll be overdressed by several layers. In that case, the focus of my ire is not the weather. It’s the meteorologist.
Paid Child Care: A Crazy Quilt of Crushing Cost
This year is my family’s costliest one for child care. With two children in paid care arrangements we’re really feeling the pinch. It doesn’t help that we live in the costliest state for child care, according to The National Association of Child Care Resources & Referral Agencies report Parents and the High Cost Price of Child Care: A 2009 Update. Fortunately, things will ease up considerably next year when our oldest enters kindergarten and our youngest enters our town’s (paid) public pre-school program, which is far cheaper than day care.
Day care costs and arrangements are insane in this country, at least that’s our experience. We’ve attempted to keep costs reasonable and tried lots of different arrangements. But it has been a crazy patchwork quilt. Since turning one, our older daughter has been in four day care/pre-school settings and both our children have had a half dozen different nannies or baby sitters.
We’ve changed providers so much in part because our family’s needs have changed and in part because of quality issues. A shockingly small percentage of providers we’ve tried impress us. We’re delighted that our town’s public pre-school program is an exception. It is very impressive and has been the highest quality early childhood education our older daughter has experienced. Bravo!
One other bit of insanity associated with child care is the web of cash flows. Take our younger daughter’s current arrangement, a nanny share with another family. There are nine different financial entities involved in flow of money from the families to the nanny:
- Three bank accounts: one for each family, one for the nanny,
- Two employers, each with two dependent care flexible spending accounts (I’m counting this as four entities),
- Two governments: federal and state, for collection of payroll and income taxes, unemployment and worker’s compensation fees.
It is a stunning amount of paperwork and shuffling of money for the care of such a cute, tiny being.
Sometimes I wonder why child care in the U.S. is so complicated and inconvenient. Every parent goes through several years to a decade dealing with it. Few like it. Hardly any I know find it sensible or easy to manage. Nearly everyone thinks it is expensive. It sucks, and it sucks for everyone.
One hypothesis why it doesn’t improve is that parenthood is just so darn exhausting and the demands are unrelenting. Plus, by the time you’re through with it anything you do to improve it won’t affect you. Day care is just one of the earlier challenges of parenthood, but no where near the last. When my kids are through with day care I’ll probably behave just like most other parents who dealt with it: put it behind me, try to forget about it, and not lift one damn finger in trying to fix it. I’ll be too busy dealing with the problems of primary and secondary education, among others. They’re messed up too in their own special ways.
Magi, Menorahs, and Mess
A few days ago the first snow of the season fell, and the flakes once delicate and perfect in descent are now joined in tight, durable bonds of ice over sidewalks and driveways of our town. Late fall in New England is like that, a beautiful mess, glorious and treacherous. Behold the leaves of crimson against the azure sky, the crystals of silver against the grey; then acquaint yourself with the cold, hard fact of icy concrete as it is introduced involuntarily and far too rapidly to your backside. It’s an invitation for reflection on control: that the things over which we can exert it are few—not the seasons, not the firmness of concrete, and certainly not when or whether homeowners shovel sidewalks or neighbors rake their yards.
It was only last week that I put my rake away for the season. I spent the last few hours before darkness on Sunday clearing the yard. Every so often I paused to admire the splendid job I was doing. During those moments of self-congratulation I looked up at the limbs of the oak trees overhead and at the full complement of leaves to which they clung, the endurance of their grip having outlasted by two weeks all other species of tree within sight. No doubt every individual in every New England town holding a rake at that hour, having diligently cleared his property, and with forty bags of stubborn oak leaves overhead had the same uncharitable thought: hope they blow onto my neighbor’s yard.
That evening as I warmed myself with a cup of tea I rehearsed the hex I intended to put upon those leaves. Then the wind picked up and rustled the leaves that remained in the trees and on neighbors’ yards. Harder it blew from the north as leaves swirled and danced in the street and, at last, were torn free from the oaks. I stepped onto the porch to watch the arctic blasts blow them sideways, sometimes upwards, but sure enough far from my yard. My elation was brief; those blasts also carried every other negligently un-raked leaf in the neighborhood up my driveway and deposited them in my yard.
Just then it began to precipitate, which is a completely inadequate characterization. If a drop of rain is a cloud’s tear then I must have been standing in firmament’s handkerchief. The heavens cleared its sinus cavities upon our town that night, and icy globs defying meteorological description coated every surface. By daybreak the town was encrusted with a slippery shellac of grey. The neighborhood’s leaves were firmly epoxied where they had come to rest, assuring they would remain on my property until spring.
Indeed we have entered the season of darkness and ice and of dry skin and practical shoes. Its arrival coincides with the inexorable approach of the Judeo-Christian/Pagan festivals of distraction and consumption, Hanukkah and Christmas, along with the rights, privileges, obligations, latkes, fish sauce, cookies, and traffic jams pertaining thereto. Elements of both traditions are observed in our home. Our toddler is a believer in anything associated with presents and food so latkes are consumed, the tree is decorated, and Santa is expected. To her, Hanukkah is mostly a festival of pyrotechnic, small integer mathematics. Each night we observe the ritual of counting candles, adding one to the sum of the previous night’s, subtracting the quantity dropped on the floor, and speculating about the total that might be required in one or two nights hence. Then we set them ablaze and watch them extinguish in smoky wisps and wonder where the candles went. That they went into the air was ruled improbable by the toddler judge who thought they descended into the menorah, as I must admit they appeared to do.
There is much that is improbable about these holidays. Once upon a time one day’s worth of oil fueled lights for eight and we mark the occasion by burning candles for eight days. Fair enough. Once upon a much later time the son of God was delivered by a virgin in a heap of hay with goat as midwife and donkey as videographer and we mark that occasion with a lighted tree and a late night visit by a bearded fat man in red who arrives in a flying deer-powered sleigh. Huh?
Perhaps in each case there simply had been some lapse in accounting or memory. But every so often the masses need a miracle and the magi need to make a distribution of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Could it be that Judas Maccabeus and Mary each perceived the need of the season and took a risk? Obfuscating about oil reserves and a pre-marital tryst would have been dangerous moves in those days, but it all paid off for them. Their legacies would not be what they are had they been more forthcoming about quantities of fuel and intimate encounters in late March.
Whether their origins are viewed as fantasy or miracle, the holidays return with regularity as unstoppable as December snow. The ancients could no more control the storms or their neighbors as can we, but they were wise to heed their spirit and to distract themselves and their children from winter’s doldrums and difficulties. To a child, magical tales with tangible props make for a glorious month. As a child’s spirit goes so do those of her parents. Her wonder at the disappearing candles and the stealth of Santa is infectious. Seeing the world through her eyes we welcome the beautiful mess of the season and its holidays, embrace the air’s chill and the ice underfoot, and forgive our neighbors’ neglect of shovel and rake. We gather with our children and parents, brothers and sisters, tell tales, dance to music, offer gifts, hang baubles, give light, hope for peace, and find our joy. The hearth warms, the cookies bake, and the jeering leaves and icy slop of late fall are forgotten.
About a Boy’s: A Meditation on Circumcision
The compendium of Jewish circumcision humor is brief. Here it is.
After his regular Tuesday lunch with Rabbi Hershel, Rabbi Yosef removed a crisp twenty from his new wallet. “Where did you get such a beautiful wallet?” inquired Rabbi Hershel as he leaned in for a closer look.
“Mohel Erez sold it to me for four-hundred dollars,” replied Rabbi Yosef, beaming with pride.
“Four-hundred dollars! That’s a lot of money for a wallet,” said Rabbi Hershel who was beginning to worry about his otherwise thrifty and reserved old friend.
“Ah, but this is a foreskin wallet,” Rabbi Yosef said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “Rub it and it enlarges to a valise!”
As this joke illustrates, foreskin can be both funny and useful. Circumcision, however, is no laughing matter. It can be a source of anguish, and I am not referring to that which may be experienced (or not) by baby boys but by their parents. To snip or not to snip? It’s a question I’ve considered but, thankfully, never had to resolve.
Circumcision is not (or ought not be) entertained by parents of girls and for this I rejoice. I dodged that bullet twice. Each one of my daughters was considered perfect just as she was delivered, not one fold or flap of skin too many or too few. I never had to answer the question I dreaded for years before becoming a parent. What would I have wanted if I had had a son? Even now the thought occasionally torments me, until I think about it too long and then it seems absurd. Just contemplating the sculpting of an infant’s member strikes me as preposterous. Naturally when I consider circumcision I ponder the arguments for and against, but I never find any of them compelling.
I am as surprised to be writing this as you are in reading it: I was circumcised. Even though I know my circumcision story I do not know why my parents decided as they did. I’ve always assumed it was just the thing to do to Jewish boys in the early 1970s. But here’s the Big Secret: I did not have a Bris, the Jewish circumcision and naming ceremony performed by a Mohel eight days after birth. The Bris itself is brief, and the actual blade work is astonishingly so. (I verified this recently when I attended my first Bris. The Mohel unsheathed that boy so quickly—literally in under a second—that my immediate thought was, “Shouldn’t he be taking a bit more time with that?”) Most of an occasion of a Bris is a party to celebrate a new (male) life. Still it is a celebration justified by a minor procedure. My parents thought that going to so much fuss over a little surgery was silly. So there was no fuss over my phallus, no Bris for me, and thus, my Judaism really had little to do with it.
Some say a boy should look like his dad, and I do. This is not a tremendous source of pride for me or major occasion for bonding between me and my dad. Even when overcome by self-pity on my worst days it never occurs to me to draw solace from the thought, “At least mine looks like my dad’s.” He and I never raise glasses and exchange hearty back slaps to revel in this minor resemblance. So I am not satisfied with this like-father-like-son rationale. It is too simplistic. Either circumcision is a good idea or it isn’t. Just because it was (or wasn’t) done to dad does not alter the objective merit of the act.
All sorts of health benefits are promised to the circumcised. Apparently penile cancer, an exceedingly rare condition, is eliminated. Fair enough. I wonder though, why don’t we apply a similar technique to eliminate the minuscule risk of ear lobe cancer too? Then there is the promise of reduced infections of the urinary tract and of the foreskin (um, duh!). These advantages probably had some sway in Talmudic times when a boy with a bright future and deep pride of his (and his dad’s) attached foreskin was one nasty bacterial infestation away from death. As the ancient Jewish saying goes, “Shlimazl is he with a prepuce upon his schmuck.” (Shlimazl means “unlucky.” Schmuck means “schmuck.”) Today, thanks to antibiotics, infections are mostly no big deal. We just don’t tend to lop off body parts as protection from them anymore. So why make an exception in this instance?
Maybe it has to do with sex. Research shows that the penis is often involved, though not in infancy. Research also shows that males who are circumcised have a slightly lower risk of getting sexually transmitted diseases. STDs are no trifling matter so this is a promising line of argument. But then we’re told—and I’m not sure how anybody knows this—that removal of the foreskin causes a decrease in sexual pleasure. Oy, that’s a fine knee in the crotch! Baby, bathwater, out you go.
It is hard to convince new parents with arguments based on sex. The first days of the life of a baby boy is simply the wrong time to ask his parents to consider this aspect of his distant future. There’s a substantial “ick” factor. Parents are no more interested in contemplating their newborn’s one-day bedroom exaltations than they are in entertaining that of their own parents. Sex and infants are like oil and water. You can only mix them by adding mustard, which is neither sexy nor appropriate for consumption by or application to infants.
When I get fed up with the circumcision catch-22 I take my mind off it by wondering why I wonder about it. I don’t expect to have another child and the decision for me has been made. There’s just little justification for thinking about it anymore. I suppose the only reason is to prepare myself in the event one of my daughters has a son. If they do then it is likely my thoughts of foreskin, like Rabbi Yosef’s new wallet, will swell once again beyond proportion.
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