Colin fights against us a lot lately—over anything from brushing his teeth to using the restroom. He can need to use the toilet so badly he’s dancing, but if I ask him to go, he’ll say no. He’d rather pee his pants than answer, “Yes, Mommy. I’ll gladly do whatever you say because you’re brimming with wisdom and genius.” For the record, I’d settle for just “yes, Mommy,” since the rest is implied. But I can’t even get that.
I’m not sure if this change is because of his new baby sister or because he’s three. Or maybe it’s that he’s a robot sent from the future to drive me crazy—because in the future I’m a minor hero in the battle against the robots. I’m not quite important enough to warrant sending a Schwarzenegger death bot, but I’m significant enough to earn a robot that drives me a little batty. Since the latter scenario is, obviously, the most likely, I have to say that the future society constructs some really cute robots.
Recently, when Colin was fighting passionately against brushing his teeth, I realized what I wanted from him.
Blind obedience.
You know that story in the Old Testament where Abraham nearly offers his son as a sacrifice? Isaac must have been thinking, “Dad’s acting kind of funny, and we’ve got all the wood for the burnt offering and no sheep. Things look pretty suspicious here, but, hey, Dad told me to follow him up the mountain, so that’s what I’ll do.”
That’s the kind of obedience I’m talking about.
There’s a speech my father frequently gave, typically when my brother or sister or I refused to eat something green on our plates. “This isn’t a democracy,” he’d preach. “It’s a dictatorship, and I’m the dictator.”
Fast forward to this moment, and I see the wisdom of his words. Schools fill our children’s heads with foolish notions of democracy and freedom of speech, but what I want is totalitarian rule. There will be no silly colonists clamoring about representation in this household.
In teacher education school, we’re taught that students aren’t empty vessels waiting to be filled. They come with their own ideas and perspectives. But Colin was an empty vessel for me to fill, and somehow his head got clouded with notions of independent thought and free will. I’m not sure where those ideas came from, but I need to crush them and replace them with dependence and submission.
Before you protest, let me state that I won’t be corrupt. I know every dictator promises that, but I really won’t abuse my power. I’ll issue commands that benefit my subjects, such as eat your vegetables, do your homework, and salute me and answer, “Ma’am, yes ma’am!” after I finish talking.
To prove I’m a good dictator, obedience will have its rewards. Faithful subjects will be granted housing, three rations a day, and bedtime stories.
But I won’t tolerate delayed obedience or protests. Sometimes Colin counters my commands with a different offer, and if I don’t capitulate, he tantrums. I cannot budge, however, because it is my policy never to negotiate with terrorists.
If I were granted total control, our residence would be a much nicer place. Imagine a household in which everyone brushes his teeth. Imagine all the people using the toilet on command. I’m pulling these lines straight from a John Lennon song.
For my regime to function, I’ll need a secret police force to help enforce these commands. Where can I find that? Can I just click “buy it now” on eBay?
Of course children need to have their own ideas to grow into responsible adults, and I’m okay with Colin and Annabelle having their own thoughts—as long as their thoughts don’t differ from mine. I know there are parents who will disagree with me. This is because, obviously, they’re robots sent from the future to annoy me. But probably not as cute.
I’m not sure if this change is because of his new baby sister or because he’s three. Or maybe it’s that he’s a robot sent from the future to drive me crazy—because in the future I’m a minor hero in the battle against the robots. I’m not quite important enough to warrant sending a Schwarzenegger death bot, but I’m significant enough to earn a robot that drives me a little batty. Since the latter scenario is, obviously, the most likely, I have to say that the future society constructs some really cute robots.
Recently, when Colin was fighting passionately against brushing his teeth, I realized what I wanted from him.
Blind obedience.
You know that story in the Old Testament where Abraham nearly offers his son as a sacrifice? Isaac must have been thinking, “Dad’s acting kind of funny, and we’ve got all the wood for the burnt offering and no sheep. Things look pretty suspicious here, but, hey, Dad told me to follow him up the mountain, so that’s what I’ll do.”
That’s the kind of obedience I’m talking about.
There’s a speech my father frequently gave, typically when my brother or sister or I refused to eat something green on our plates. “This isn’t a democracy,” he’d preach. “It’s a dictatorship, and I’m the dictator.”
Fast forward to this moment, and I see the wisdom of his words. Schools fill our children’s heads with foolish notions of democracy and freedom of speech, but what I want is totalitarian rule. There will be no silly colonists clamoring about representation in this household.
In teacher education school, we’re taught that students aren’t empty vessels waiting to be filled. They come with their own ideas and perspectives. But Colin was an empty vessel for me to fill, and somehow his head got clouded with notions of independent thought and free will. I’m not sure where those ideas came from, but I need to crush them and replace them with dependence and submission.
Before you protest, let me state that I won’t be corrupt. I know every dictator promises that, but I really won’t abuse my power. I’ll issue commands that benefit my subjects, such as eat your vegetables, do your homework, and salute me and answer, “Ma’am, yes ma’am!” after I finish talking.
To prove I’m a good dictator, obedience will have its rewards. Faithful subjects will be granted housing, three rations a day, and bedtime stories.
But I won’t tolerate delayed obedience or protests. Sometimes Colin counters my commands with a different offer, and if I don’t capitulate, he tantrums. I cannot budge, however, because it is my policy never to negotiate with terrorists.
If I were granted total control, our residence would be a much nicer place. Imagine a household in which everyone brushes his teeth. Imagine all the people using the toilet on command. I’m pulling these lines straight from a John Lennon song.
For my regime to function, I’ll need a secret police force to help enforce these commands. Where can I find that? Can I just click “buy it now” on eBay?
Of course children need to have their own ideas to grow into responsible adults, and I’m okay with Colin and Annabelle having their own thoughts—as long as their thoughts don’t differ from mine. I know there are parents who will disagree with me. This is because, obviously, they’re robots sent from the future to annoy me. But probably not as cute.
