“And I do think it’s true that men stole / the magical instruments of women // & we were too busy / with ordinary life / to worry about this” – Hoa Nguyen, “You Say The Land” from ‘HECATE LOCHIA’
The latest book I can recite eyes closed by heart is Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. It’s an irritatingly almost-metered alphabet book that’s got my kid really knowing his letters, so I’m a big fan, regardless of how I feel about it personally. The four-year-old is memorizing books and seems genuinely excited about reading. What more could I ask?
One night, we were reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, and the child insisted he say each letter as I read the text. Like how the Beastie Boys ACCENT certain WORDS in their BARS. Except, instead of saying the letters, he leaned into my face and made a loud buzzing sound. Days later, his preschool teacher would tell Mal and I that “he is his own best audience” because he cracks himself up so much. This was an accurate assessment. He was laughing so hard at every buzz that I started laughing so hard I was crying. Tears the size of the reversed Chicago River, running down my face like so many barges. Being at least half a comedy writer, I like to think I know funny. What my kid was doing was, objectively, not funny. Yet we were both laughing so hard that it was a toss-up who would have a pee accident, the 34-year-old or the four-year-old.
This is because parenting is not rational. Parenting is temporary insanity.
Remember that poor bastard who got outed as a crybaby when his mom made a literal federal case out his school assigning Beloved? Imagine learning your mom’s a fascist because she told the national news you had nightmares over a book. Nightmares! Over a book! I mean, Blake Murphy must be fine with it, he went on to become a lawyer for the National Republican Congressional Committee. Bed-wetting bitchass. Anyway, listen: men crying is good, people reading Toni Morrison is good, wrestling with the fact that the country you were born into only exists thanks to chattel slavery is good. Your mom siccing a bunch of fascists on the school board because she was worried your feelings got hurt is not good. It’s bitchassness.
Steve Bannon has identified school boards as the next fertile ground for fomenting fascism. Much like he was able to play on the insecurities of emasculated gamers to propel Trump to the Presidency, he now wants hysterical parents to go harass beleaguered principals and underpaid teachers until the only books they teach are Ayn Rand. It’s a scary proposition, because “concerned parents” are easy to sympathize with. Who doesn’t want the best for their kids? Problem is, parents don’t always know what’s best for their kids. But don’t tell them that.
(As a writer, I’m probably supposed to talk some about how banning books only inspires readers. Say something uplifting about punk rock spirit. How education flourishes when it’s Against The Man. Not here. My revolutionary hero is Cassian Andor, not Katniss Everdeen. Banned books bad. Always.)
Never trust “as a parent, I…” This person is paving the road to hell, and they are speaking from a place of temporary insanity. Parents are not experts, and that scares the hell out of them. The miracle of birth has happened 83 billion times, and we still think ours is the most special. Parents are not rational actors, we are people with opinions on Daniel Tiger vs. Peppa Pig.
Empower writers, and more importantly, empower young readers. Bob and I were just talking about Dr. Rudine Sims Bishop’s concept of mirror/window books, the former being a book where kids see themselves, the latter being a book where kids are let in to the experience of people not like them. I think this concept—fiction as a means of understanding other people. Let’s continue letting education and books be part of the machine that kills fascists.
Sorry you got an email,
Chris
5 Links:
Speaking of the miracle of birth, reminder that Miracle of 86 rips.
As a parent, I have opinions on kids’ books.
As a parent, I have opinions on kids’ shows (side note: we discovered Bluey like a week after this article went up. I am very sad I’ve never had cause to write about Bluey.)
As a parent, the great Alex Schmid—aka Schmidty the Clam, aka Schmidty the Champ—is very considerate, the great lengths he goes to make Secretly Incredibly Fascinating family-friendly. This week’s episode just so happens to be on the letter Y.
As a parent who was into skating in the early aughts, I have no moral high ground to tell my kid not to do this: