Dad Abdication. Abdadcation? Dabdication!

Someday I’ll probably write a blog post that doesn’t mention G.K. Chesterton. But not today. GK once said of Aquinas that he always wrote with an eye on two qualities: clarity and courtesy. “And he did it because they were entirely practical qualities, affecting the probabilities of conversion.” I try to keep that in mind. I feel like I’m generally pretty courteous. But then I hear people say, “I don’t go to church because my parents made me go as a child,” and I just can't do it anymore. These are the words of an idiot. Did your parents not make you eat vegetables? Read books? Use the potty? If you’re not still doing anything your parents made you do as a child, how are you even alive?

Sonya’s almost two now. (When she was born, absolutely everyone told me they grow up fast; and yep, sometimes everybody’s right.) We’re well past the point where I can let her get away with things like—to pick a random example—throwing her food on the floor. Now and again, we have these titanic battles of will, hinging on the disposition of oatmeal or bath toys. It’s hard for me, because I adore this girl and it breaks my heart to hear her cry, let alone to make her cry. And it’s hard on her because I’m fifteen times her size and hold a black belt in Jiu-jutsu.

Waited a long time to bust out this pic.

As a father, I know perfectly well that it’s my responsibility to discipline my children and teach them to function in society. And I swear I can deal with her crying because I know it’s for her own good and I would be failing and maiming her if I didn’t hold these lines. (Also she’d probably starve if I didn’t coax her into eating once in awhile.) What really bothers me is the power disparity. Of course I can sit there and wait her out. She has no money, no geographical knowledge; she doesn’t have an ID, she doesn’t know anyone that would harbor a fugitive toddler. What’s she gonna do? Ultimately, she’s going to do what she’s told.

And that’s good, because it happens that I do love her and have her best interests at heart. But somehow, it still just seems unfair. I feel like a bully, calmly sitting there holding a spoonful of applesauce while she writhes and shrieks in her high chair. I do it anyway, because I’m her dad and I have to. And you’d better believe we take her to church every week. Why in the Name of God do people think they’re being “deep” (whatever damn fool thing that means) when they reject “organized religion” for “spirituality”? We have organized English. Organized Math. Organized rules for operating a motor vehicle, a bathtub, a toaster. How is it smart to accept no guidance, no fundamentals, in the most important thing of all? Anyway, that’s a whole blog post worth of ranting. If Sonya chooses another spiritual path as an adult, that’s her right; but at least she’ll have a solid foundation from which to make intelligent choices. We’re not going to let her subsist on candy corns because I’m too much of a weakling to make her eat her broccoli.

Also, piano lessons.