There's a Reason Why We Can't Predict the Future

Posted September 07, 2007

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A friend of mine, who also happens to be the funniest person in the entire world, just sent me an e-mail describing her son's exuberant personality: "We're trying to work with [him] about noticing the temperaments of his friends (i.e., not always like his)," she wrote. "Otherwise, he's going to turn into that guy at the party who shakes your hand with a buzzer and yells 'Toga!'"

First I choked on my coffee. And then I realized that we have been sending each other e-mails like this since the boys were babies: our child-rearing anxieties have been evoked not in the clinical language of development -- but through the colorful descriptive prism of "He's going to be that guy at the party who..." My son was going to be that guy at the party who arrives carried by his mother in a sling and then says, "No thanks, man!" to a beer because, actually, he's still breastfeeding. Her son was going to that guy at the party who arrives in diapers, bringing along as his date a handy psychotherapist. Our son, who used to flirt with especially lovely houseguests by sitting on his potty, grunting and straining and pretending to poop, was going to be the guy at the party who yells, "Look at me! Dudes! Check this out!" before he, say, sets his own fart on fire with a blowtorch.

It's a sensible worry, of course: not that your child will necessarily suffer from this or that gap in their abilities or intelligence -- but that they'll turn into a human collage of the annoying people you've ever encountered. Some days I think Ben will be that guy at the party who wants to talk to you about carbon dioxide per milliliter when you're just trying to prime the keg for another beer. Other days I think he's going to be that guy at the party who rubs your shoulders too intensely and tries to get you to notice his "Take Back the Night" T-shirt. Or that guy who says, after wrapping up his nightlong monologue about lacrosse regulations, "I really enjoyed our evening," without noticing that you have already asphyxiated yourself inside a plastic bag.

Birdy -- Birdy, meanwhile, is going to be that guy in the party gagging because there was yogurt on the doorknob. Or the one tells you a really long joke and then forgets the punch line: "...wait a sec. Maybe the rabbi was naked? Dude -- wait." Recently she cracked herself up with a little of her patented vegetable humor. "What if there were cauliflower but -- ha ha ha! -- it was green!" "Wow," Michael said, "that would sure be similar to broccoli!" "Yes, ha ha ha!" Birdy said. "It would! And what if my head were backwards? Would that be funny?" And you could see the light bulb brightening above Ben's own frontwards head. "Yeah!" he said. "And I could sell tickets for people to come and see you!" Ben's going to be that guy at the party who charges a dollar for you to watch someone do a flaming Jello shot.

It's funny to think that I used to be the guy at the party who didn't actually want to be at the party and had maybe brought a book along. Because now I'm the guy at the party who puts a hand on your wrist so you won't leave our conversation and go check on the children who are likely balance-beaming along the balcony ledge and choking on Starlight mints: it's so delightful to be standing here with a glass of wine in my hand, comparing notes on our pediatricians, hormones, and gutters, realizing that even though we met since we became parents, we've been friends for a long time already. I'm the guy at the party necking briefly with Michael in the hallway on my way to the bathroom because the liquor and the night air have turned him into a sparkling, crackling thing -- or maybe they've just washed the grit of exhaustion from my eyes so that I can see him for the sparkling, crackling thing he's been all along. And I'm the guy sticking my head in the doorway to peek at the children, who have put on the soundtrack from Mad, Hot, Ballroom and are now merengueing their little hips around, laughing but serious too and so perfectly beautiful that my knees wobble a little bit. I'm the guy at the party looking for the corkscrew, the camera, my journal -- the guy who just wants the party to go on all night.

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There's a Reason Why We Can't Predict the Future

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by Catherine Newman

Catherine Newman cooks for the family

Dalai Mama Dishes

Catherine Newman cooks for the family

There's a Reason Why We Can't Predict the Future

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