Parents Are Stupid: The Dissolution of Knowledge

Last Saturday, my daughter had severe stomach pain. Only semi-awake, she moaned and writhed, screaming when I touched her tummy, which felt like it was shored up by two-by-fours.  I tried giving her 7-Up (too sweet), mashing an antacid and putting it in a teaspoon of jam (too gross), and cuddling (too confining).

It reminded me of newborn days, when we  not only had twins to worry about, but a lady named Ida Know, who seemed to move into every area of our lives, causing us to question every decision.

“Why is she crying?”

“Ida Know.”

“Do you think she’s hungry?”

“Ida Know.”

“Do you think she has gas?”

“Ida Know.”

With four and a half university degrees between the two of us, my husband and I realized we knew nothing. Helpful? No. Humbling? Yes.

Then yesterday morning, I had the following argument with my daughter, now five.

“You know what?” I asked, looking up from the paper. “It’s going to be plus nineteen today.” (I live in Canada, where you need to say plus in March).

“What did you say?” asked Vivian, mouth full of peanut butter.

“It’s going to be +19 today.”

“No, it’s not,” said Vivian.

“Yes, it is,” I said, reverting to schoolyard debate tactics.

“No, it’s not,” said Vivian.

“Well, if it’s not going to be +19, what’s it going to be?” I challenged.

“+17.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“My teacher told me.”

“Well, I’ve got today’s paper right in front of me, and it says +19.” Yes, by now I should have taken the high road.

“No, Mrs. S. says it’s going to be +17 today.”

Clearly, I know nothing. The afternoon proved that the teacher was right.

And, since I teach teenagers, I know that my parental knowledge quotient is gliding downhill and will careen off the cliff around age fourteen.

Ida Know is still in the building.