[Scene: Luke, age 18, has been talking about the life and music of Elvis Presley lately after watching his biopic; then, later, we’re looking through the new inventory of used records at a local music shop….]
Me: “Oooh, this is a good deal on a Chuck Berry album.”
Luke: “Chuck who?”
Me: “Are you serious?”
Luke: “What?”
Me: “You at least recognize ‘Johnny B. Goode,’ right?”
Luke: “Uh… I guess….”
Me: “How on earth do you know Elvis but not Chuck Berry?!?”
Luke: …
Me: “I’m sorry. I have failed as a parent. Lord help us.”
Luke: “What kind of music does Chuck Berry play?”
Me: “Look, I know we’re white people, but you have to understand that Elvis was only the 'King of Rock and Roll’ because he’s white. Black musicians like Berry had already invented rock and roll. Even John Lennon said Chuck Berry was the founder of rock. But radio stations were pretty segregated, so Elvis got airtime and Berry didn’t.”
Luke: “So, basically: racism.”
Me: “Basically.”
Luke: “Did Elvis steal rock and roll from Berry?”
Me: “I don’t think either one of them would put it that way, but it does look kinda like it from certain angles.”
Luke: “So you’re getting the record, right?”
Beth: [age 14] “All the history I learned when I was younger was just propaganda, wasn’t it.”
Mom: “What do you mean?”
Beth: “When I was in second grade, we had to do a play about George Washington. I had one line. I had to say, ‘George Washington had false teeth made from hippopotamus ivory.’ I kept having trouble saying the line.”
Mom: “I remember.”
Beth: “But today I learned that Washington had teeth from slaves. Actual human teeth. In his mouth.”
Me: “Well, he had several kinds of teeth as part of his dentures, if I remember, including human teeth. Many rich people did. But it’s kind of funny that the Founding Fathers considered slaves human enough to use for teeth but not human enough to receive full legal rights.”
Mom: “It was not unusual for poor people to sell their teeth in those days.”
Me: “Like in Les Miserables, when a poor character sells her teeth to support her daughter.”
Beth: “But why teach us only part of the truth? Why can’t they just teach the whole truth to kids instead of making them think it’s the whole truth? It’s like they don’t want to tell us things we might ask questions about.”
Me: “That is a wise insight.”
Mom: “If you learned that slaves sold their teeth, you might ask some hard questions about society and economics. But, like you said, a lot of the things I learned as a kid turned out to be completely wrong. Some of it you are learning correctly now, like the real history of Christopher Columbus.”
Beth: “Columbus! That’s when I first realized teachers might be full of propaganda. Fourth grade, Mrs. R’s class. On Columbus Day she made us do all these worksheets about how nice and brave Columbus was, and me and another kid said the worksheets were wrong because Columbus was actually a terrible person who tortured and killed the native people and made them slaves. And Mrs. R just said, 'I’ll have to look into that, but right now you just need to do the worksheets.’ And then she never did look into it.”
Me: “So, basically: shut up and stop asking questions?”
Beth: “Basically. It’s propaganda. It’s a fairy tale copy of history. It really just makes me want to stop trusting teachers because so much I learned when I was younger turned out to be a lot worse than they said.”
Me: “How did you learn about Washington’s slave teeth? Was that in a history lesson?”
Beth: “No, actually, it was in Language. We were reading something that had a connection to government and the teacher went off on Washington and Jefferson and others.”
Me: “So you have at least one teacher who shares some of the dirtier facts of history.”
Mom: “High school teachers tend to be a lot more open in that way.”
Me: “And wait until you get to college. Then you get even closer to the messy truth.”
Beth: “I still think they could teach the messy truth when we’re younger. We’re not idiots.”
Mom: “What time is it?”
Me: [looks at watch] “It’s 20 to 8.”
Beth: [age 14] “Why do you do that?”
Me: “Do what?”
Beth: “You’re making me do math. You could just say it’s 8:40.”
Mom: “No, it’s 7:40.”
Beth: “Oh, see Dad? You had to do time math and then you made me do reverse time math, and I didn’t even get it right, when you could have just said 7:40.”
Me: “I don’t see the problem. If the hour mark is the main point of time, then everything else is either after it or before it.”
Beth: “You should just use normal time.”
Me: “All time is normal. Or maybe no time is. You can figure it out, though.”
Beth: “It’s too early in the morning for math. And time. Together, that’s just cruel.”
Mom: “Just be ready to go at a quarter after 8.”
Beth: “AAAAAAARGH!”
Beth: [age 14] “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘red-headed stepchild’?”
Me: “Oh wow. That’s an old one.”
Beth: “But you’ve heard it?”
Me: “Yes, years ago it was something people would say. Where did you hear it?”
Beth: “My math teacher used it in class to describe something by saying 'but I don’t want to make that the red-headed stepchild.’ The whole class was completely silent after she said it, and she just kept teaching until after a couple minutes somebody asked, 'Can you elaborate on the red-headed stepchild?’ And the teacher said, 'Oh, I’m so sorry, I can see how that might offend redheads and stepchildren.’”
Me: “Did she explain what it meant?”
Beth: “She said it’s sort of like the phrase 'black sheep of the family’ — like somebody everybody is ashamed of.”
Me: “Yeah, sort of, or somebody that everybody else picks on. But that idiom is so bound to a time and culture. No wonder your class was confused.”
Beth: “I sort of get the 'black sheep’ phrase, but what’s up with redheads and stepkids?”
Me: “Stepchildren used to be seen as a burden, or negative. And in some parts of the world, red hair was so rare that it was seen as suspicious. Put those together and you’ve got a fairly negative connotation.”
Beth: “It’s funny how old people today make fun of words my generation uses. But then they have phrases like this.”
Me: “Just wait until you’re older and the younger generations can’t figure out your old-school idioms. Even the phrase 'old-school’ might not make sense anymore.”
Beth: “It just means old, Dad. You can drop the 'school’ part.”
Me: “See?”
Me: “How was school today?”
Beth: [age 14] “School was… schoolish.”
Me: “Schoolish?”
Beth: “Yes.”
Me: “Wow, what a useful answer. You knew exactly what I wanted to hear, and gave it to me in a clear and extremely detailed manner. Thank you for your attention to sharing information.”
Beth: [shrugs]
Me: …
Beth: …
Me: “OK, I’ll try a different question. How did your presentation go today?”
Beth: “Oh, that went really well. My partner and I didn’t really get to talk before the presentation, but he did his slides, and I did my sides, and then I reformatted everything just so it all looked the same, and then we gave the presentation, and the teacher seem to like it. I thought it was one of the better presentations in the class today.”
Me: “And how about that math quiz?”
Beth: “I don’t know. I definitely got one of them wrong, but I think I did OK on the rest. But afterward, I was thinking about the question and I’m pretty sure I misunderstood it.”
Me: “OK, so where were all these words when I asked how school was?”
Beth: “But school was schoolish.”
Me: “You know what I was trying to ask.”
Beth: “You ask an ish question, you get an ish answer.”
— Beth, age 14, upon receiving just such an egg.
Happy Easter! And to those who celebrate: He is risen.
Beth: [age 14] “Say ‘milk’.”
Me: “Umm… milk.”
Beth: “See, you say it like I do.”
Me: “How is that different from anyone else?”
Beth: “You say it more like m-e-l-k instead of m-i-l-k.”
Me: “Huh? It’s milk.”
Beth: “See?”
Me: “That’s almost no difference at all. I can’t even tell if that’s real.”
Beth: “Maybe, but I said it at school today and somebody actually interrupted the whole conversation just to point out that I said 'milk’ with an accent.”
Me: “I don’t think you have an accent.”
Beth: “Mom, say 'milk’.”
Mom: “Milk.”
Beth: “You say it right.”
Mom: “I didn’t even notice a difference until you said there was. I’m still not sure there is.”
Me: “I’ve heard of people having problems with dairy, but this is a new one.”
Beth: “Do I say any other words weird?”
Mom: “Sometimes words you’ve only read in books and never heard pronounced, and you don’t know how to say them.”
Me: “I do that too. Words are not always phonetic, unfortunately.”
Mom: “Language is weird. I’m sure if you asked a thousand people across America how to pronounce m-i-l-k you would get a lot of variations.”
Me: “Down south I would pronounce it with basically two syllables: me-ilk.”
Beth: “Maybe that’s where you get it from — and where I get it from.”
Me: “As opposed to Mom’s Yankee milk?”
Mom: “I don’t think Dad’s old Southern accent is genetic.”
Beth: “Maybe not genetics. You just taught me the wrong pronunciation.”
Me: “It’s not the wrong pronunciation. Just the wrong place for it.”
[Scene: I’m playing music loudly while prepping dinner when Beth, age 14, returns to the room to finish making her homemade gnocchi…]
Beth: “What is this music?”
Me: “Thus Spake Zarathustra. It’s by a German composer named Strauss.”
Beth: “It’s very dramatic for cooking.”
Me: “Well, the dawn of man, the dinner of man — almost the same thing.”
Beth: …
Me: “From 2001?”
Beth: “I wasn’t alive then.”
Me: “No, 2001, the movie. Oh, never mind. The beginning has a sequence involving the evolution of human consciousness and uses the opening of this song. It’s famous now. It basically became a meme before modern memes.”
Beth: “Is German orchestra music really the right background for making Italian food?”
Me: “Good point. Let’s try something else.” [searches in Spotify app, begins playing a song] “OK, this is more appropriate.”
Beth: “Who is this?”
Me: “Luciano Pavarotti. One of your great grandmother’s favorite opera singers.”
Beth: “She had more than one favorite opera singer?”
Me: “Oh, she had lots. Here’s another.” [updates Spotify] “Placido Domingo. He’s Spanish, not Italian, but an amazing opera singer.”
Beth: …
Me: “What?”
Beth: “I do not understand opera.”
Me: “It’s not in English.”
Beth: “No, I mean: I do not understand the appeal of opera.”
Me: “OK, if you don’t like that…” [updates Spotify] “…maybe this is better.”
Beth: “Who is this?”
Me: “Frank Sinatra.”
Beth: “I think I’ve heard this before.”
Me: “Probably. Or maybe…” [updates Spotify] “…Bobby Darin.”
Beth: “I’ve definitely heard this before.”
Me: [cycles through a few more — Perry Como, Tony Bennett, and…]
Beth: “Dean Martin? His parents gave him two first names?”
Me: “That’s just his stage name. He was born Dino Crovetti or Crosetti or something, I can’t remember.”
Beth: “Wait, he chose that name on purpose?”
Me: “Yeah, because having a really Italian name would just hold him back in the U.S., at least back in his day. All of these guys had really Italian names that they changed.”
Beth: “Jeez. Nowadays a cool name like that would definitely help.”
Me: “Suddenly all of this is beginning to feel like the soundtrack to Buca di Beppo.”
Beth: “But the food here is way better.”
Me: [turns up the music]
[Scene: we’re grocery shopping…]
Me: “Those baguettes look good.”
Beth: [age 14] “Baguettes. That’s a good word.”
Me: “What?”
Beth: “Baguettes. It’s on my list.”
Me: “Your list of what?”
Beth: “I have a list of favorite words. It changes a lot, but baguettes is on there.”
Me: “What else is on the list?”
Beth: “Right now, it’s baguettes, vendetta, barbel, and darkling. Maybe one or two others.”
Me: “Darkling? Like the character from Shadow and Bone?”
Beth: “It was a word before that. It means something that is dark, or turning dark.”
Me: “I did not know that. And barbel? Do you mean barbell?”
Beth: “No, a barbel is that little whisker thing that some fish have under their mouths.”
Me: “Oh, like catfish.”
Beth: “Right.”
Me: “Why are these your favorite words?”
Beth: “They sound right when you say them. It doesn’t even matter what they mean. Their letters and syllables just have a good vibe.”
Me: “So they have a good ‘mouthfeel’ like people say about food?”
Beth: “Yes.”
Me: “It’s sort of like why there are so many kinds of pasta. They each hold sauce differently and have a different mouthfeel when you’re eating them. So maybe it’s the same for words?”
Beth: “I guess. A lot of pasta names are also pretty good words. Like rigatoni.”
Me: “Pasta generally has a good vibe, no matter what it’s called.”
Beth: “Maybe, but it tastes better when it has a good name.”
[Scene: Beth, age 14, has just made brunch: French toast with maple syrup and fresh blueberries, fishcakes with spicy aioli, and fresh fruit…]
Me: “Sweetheart, this is amazing.”
Beth: “Thanks.”
Me: “You’re really becoming a good baker. Is this something you’re consciously working on?”
Beth: “No, not really. I just see something or remember something and think, I’d like to make that. Even if I don’t know how to make it, I look up recipes and figure it out. It usually turns out OK.”
Me: “Most people would just try to figure out if a restaurant serves it, or if it comes prepared in the frozen foods section.”
Beth: “Baking is also a power move.”
Me: “How so?”
Beth: “Well, if I bring cookies or muffins or something to school, usually people only try them to be polite. You can tell they’re not expecting it to be anything. But then it’s pretty good and they’re surprised. And then they feel like they owe me something because they were so surprised that it was actually good. They act much nicer to me.”
Me: “Or maybe people are happier after eating yummy baked goods.”
Beth: “No, I’m banking on social guilt.”
Me: “As delicious as this is, let me just make clear that it doesn’t work as a power move on me.”
Beth: “Could you help clean the kitchen?”
Me: “Of course.”
Beth: “So maybe it’s working a little bit.”