26/9/97
Me, An Embarrassment
If only I were perfect like all the other daddies...
I guess I've been missing the signals.
Either my children have become socially
sentient or I've turned into an old fogey.
In any case, one recent day, suddenly, I
became aware that I'm an embarrassment to
them.
Only a few months ago I wrote about
how the little 'uns often put us on the
spot by saying the wrong thing. It didn't
occur to me that I would soon be writing
about how we mortify them.
I took a seat at their grade one
Hanukka party, and Odelia left her circle
of friends and plunked herself in my lap.
She smiled. "Please do me a big favor,
Daddy," she coaxed sweetly. "if
you have to shout at me, could you wait
until later? You know, I mean, even if I
do something really bad."
I hadn't recovered from that one
when, a couple of minutes later, I was nearly
bowled off my chair by her sister. One of
the fathers got up to light the candle and
sang the prayer. A terrible thought came
to Nomi; her face flushed, and her mouth
dropped. She turned to me and whispered:
"Daddy, are you going to do that too?"
No, I said. Her entire being released a
monumental sigh of relief.
I asked what was on her mind. "I
was afraid you would sing too."
"So what? I can sing."
"But in Hebrew, in front
of all my friends -- Daddy, your accent
is embarrassing!"
I was thunderstruck. I felt like
a thick-tongued Polish refugee in the New
World. I saw the fear of shame on my child's
face, and now I understood the humiliation
of a first-generation immigrant.
But -- but I speak English,
for goodness sake! Perfect, flawless, unaccented
English, the language that rules the world,
the tongue of envy for everyone not born
with it.
I have carefully safeguarded my rotten
Hebrew accent as a source of honor. It marks
me as a hallowed Anglo, endows me with a
superiority complex among natives whose
most fervid wish is to speak this august
language as melifluously as I -- and this,
for my children, is humiliating?!
Of course, in their social milieu,
which happens to be populated by six-year-old
Israelis, English is on a par with Russian,
Amharic and Spanish: fringe communication
of social aliens.
My children are very deft with accents,
probably because they're linguistic products
of a Brit and a Canuck, plus two-dozen-odd
oddly-accented people who helped us raise
them the first two years. The triplets heard
English as she is spoke in Holland, the
Philippines, Arab Jerusalem, Russia, Japan,
South Africa, the American Midwest, Northeast
and Southwest, even, for goodness sake,
the Molucca Islands.
There's another substantial influence
as well: sometimes I hear a word or two
that they can only get from TV: none of
their friends speak Cockney, jive or Brooklynese.
By now, at the age of six,
they can mimic an array of accents, and
comfortably switch from British to Canadian
to Israeli to American in the same breath.
But there's nothing like mocking
Daddy's Ivrit.
"C'mon, Daddy, say 'pilpel.'"
"Pilpel."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Say 'Dror.'"
"Dror."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Say 'Ron.'"
"Ron."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
"But girls, 'Ron' is an English
name."
"No it's not."
Go argue with six-year-old kids who
know everything.
Ultimately I pull one out of the
hat that gets 'em every time: "Oh yeah?
Say 'Power Rangers.'"
"Parenjas."
And when I laugh, they look at me
queerly, humbling my presumption to think
I'm right.
ITג€™S NOT just the way I speak. My girls behave like
there's a blinking neon sign over my head
with an arrow pointing at me and the words
"Freak of Nature." They scrutinize
me from my flat feet to my glabrous scalp,
dismayed that their daddy is so flawed.
It seems I'm too bald, too fat, too old
to be walking around in public; they'd prefer
I had reconstructive face surgery, filled
in my bellybutton, shaved my chest and put
some muscle on my tushy. There's a bump
on the middle finger of my left hand that
places me in a class with Aesop's ogres;
a minuscule mole on my neck looks to them
like a tremendous pile of cow dung.
Why can't I be perfect like everyone
else's daddy?
I often take them with me on errands
in town, but once, to my surprise, they
begged off -- and I mean begged.
One of them explained: "You
might cough." (I had bronchitis at
the time.)
"So? I'll cough."
I might just as well have been saying
I was liable to puke, drop my pants, greet
passersby out of context or transmogrify
lycanthropically. They were wide-eyed with
horror. "But everybody will look
at you!"
It's bad enough everyone looks at
our car. "Shouldn't we get a new car,
Daddy? Ours is old. And ugly. And slow.
And dirty."
Yeah, but it's cheap, dependable,
no one wants to steal an '84 Renault and
it doesn't lose any value every time the
paint gets chipped. I pointed out that we
should probably consider ourselves lucky:
people are always asking if I want to sell
it.
"Well next time, say yes."
The world's worst-dressed man? That's
me. "Aw, Daddy, you can't
wear blue with brown!"
(They're also fluent in Italic.)
"Yes I can, because it's very,
very light brown."
"Oh, noooo..."
And God forbid I should ever wear
anything with a trace of pink.
Their mother is not perfect, either.
"I wish Yehudit was my mommy,"
one of them said wistfully. "Because
she has long hair."
They regularly ask if we're poor,
and I assure them we're not, and explain
that terms like "rich" and "poor"
are relative, that to a family with no food
we're rich, but to a billionaire we're poor,
and then I ask if they understand and they
say, "Yes, but why are we poor?"
I suppose all little children make
gods of their parents (and parents of their
gods). And I would guess most parents like
it that way. What, I'm going to tell them
I was a bum in school? That I can't swim?
That I don't know everything? (My wife is
no help in this department. I grumbled recently
that my kids may soon be smarter than me,
and she said, "Don't worry, that happened
already four years ago.")
Yet for all that, I'm the one they
want to marry. And that really worries me.
I'm bald, fat, old and ugly, I'm growing
a pile of cow dung on my neck and I speak
like a moron: this is their taste
in men?