Advice

I have never been particularly good at taking advice from people whom I don’t think are in a position to be giving it. This deep streak of defiance tormented more than one unprepared and timid teacher in the Laguna Beach Unified School District, yet has proven to be a useful skill in the world of critical thinking and analysis. However, as a public father and the primary care-giver of an infant, Kaia and I seem to have formed a powerful magnet that is inevitably attracting advice from anyone who has ever looked at a child. This is not my idea of a good time.

Of course, it is not news that there is a rather weighty assumption deeply embedded in most people’s world-view (and I have repeatedly found this to be the case in Japan, India and in all folks outside of those who know what a doula is) that someone like me cannot possibly know what they are doing when it comes to the details of raising a child. This would help to explain how strangers feel it within their bounds to openly question my parenting, albeit in subtle ways.

Today at breakfast, one of these incidents happened. Currently, Kaia is being affected by a fever that is bouncing around between 37 degrees Celsius (98 Fahrenheit) and 38.5 C (101 F). Regardless, he’s been in a rather chipper mood but last night he decided to wake up at 2:00 am to hear a story about Curious George and Bob the Builder. While at that time of the day I was tempted to make George and Bob go through Celebrity Death Match, the twenty minute tale left both friends forever. By the time that Kaia woke up at 6:50 am, I wasn’t in much of a mood for chatting, but being that we are currently staying at guest house (preferably called ‘paying guest accommodations’ here in South India, as ‘guest house’ carries the connotation of it being a place of ill repute), each meal is around a dining room table with the other guests. No staring silently into your bowl of corn flakes here.

Now if there is one thing that annoys Kaia, it is being unnecessarily bothered when he is eating; He is a very serious eater. There is little doubt where this personality trait came from, but still there are few infants (let alone people) who enjoy being poked, pinched, teased and cajoled while they eat. However unfortunately, it seems that Indian adults enjoy doling it out. I have come to accept that such things are to be expected for as long as we stay here, and Kaia does a great job of keeping his concentration, but this morning, my patience already worn thin by an interrupted and short sleep and a feverish child, the last thing I wanted to hear was how I needed to do this or that.

For some reason, people who do not know Kaia or even those who are not familiar with children feel as if they can openly make ‘critical’ comments (despite being painfully insipid) when we are eating and Kaia is unhappy. This morning, fueled by a rising fever and the routine annoyances of untimely attention, Kaia was a bit fussy. As anyone who has endured such feeding experiences knows, these are times that you prefer to be in the privacy of your own home so that when the inevitable boiling point happens, there is no one else (except maybe a equally irritated partner) to unload on. Such folk also know that from the tipping point it is a quick descent into irrationality.

What did it for me was when Kaia was whining over a piece of Indian flat bread (dosai) on my plate that I knew he did not want nor plan to eat. Already he had knocked over a glass of water onto my lap, so when I gave him the dosai, it was with very clear instructions that he needed to eat it. After some time of the food sitting on his tray, once it had become clear that he had no intention of consuming it, I took it back to eat for myself. Well, of course this did not sit well with the little man and a loud shriek followed.

Almost immediately from across the large table, the stern voice of a woman around the same age as me scolded me saying, “WHY are you taking that from him? You should let him have it.” This may seem like a benign comment, but at the time it was very inappropriate and I shot back a glare that had to translate into any language as, “shut the f*** up”.

Look, I realize that her ‘advice’ may have been with the best intentions, but I certainly don’t need someone who has never dealt with such issues giving me tips. I wonder if it was my wife instead of me, she would have said the same thing. Would she have even been watching? Am I too oversensitive as a father? No one likes being questioned about their parenting, but if the advice is sound, I’ll listen. In the end, a good night’s rest would have made this a non-issue that could easily be reflected back in a smile or chuckle. Lord know, this isn’t the first time that I’ve been told lame things about how to raise Kaia, and there will be many more to come, I’m sure. Let’s just hope that tomorrow promises lower temperatures and a deeper sleep.

Why I love this time: watching him eat a cookie with such joy and mess that the crumbs stick all over his chin drool, and the anticipation when he finishes and asks, “papa. Ki, beee”…which means, “Papa, cookie, please”.