Geriatrix,a character from Asterix. This is how I’m feeling today.
This post was in part inspired by one written by
, which you can read here. The thought of having to adapt to the ever-changing nature of this society that is drifting from one “need” to another, forever catering to an audience that doesn’t know what it wants but consumes it anyway, is why I like children who say they want to be knights and princesses1- and look wearily upon those who say they want to be YouTubers. Heaven forbid they still have that option to pay the bills in twenty years’ time.Teaching my son maths is horrible.
I mean H. O. R. R. I. B. L. E.
For starters, I lack the skills to make his developing brain grasp abstract concepts of division and multiplication. Like, once I am out of fingers, I am also out of resources. What’s more, it brings me back to that age. He gets out his homework, and BAM, I am transported automatically to the class of Sister Pilar (AKA Sister Duck), and my self-esteem and hard-won confidence disappear with one bat of my eyelids.
I had to google how to use an abacus. Then I had to watch YouTube tutorials on how to explain simple mathematical concepts to 9-year-olds- If Isa, Charlie and Matteo have 60 kronor among them, Charlie has 14 kr more than Isa, and Matteo has 5 more than Charlie, how many does Isa have? The only answer that comes to mind is how Isa, as expected, has started early in the teachings of patriarchy and is already at the tender age of 9, being paid way less than her male counterparts. They start them young these days! But I am not going to start a feminist tirade with my poor boy; he is struggling with math, and I am not making him also struggle with social order and the gender pay gap and throw into the mix the notion of the importance of unionising. Yes, I need to focus. Plus, in my extremely convoluted brain, I am sure that at nine, they are not ready to understand the concept of first-degree equations. I am sure I had to struggle with those at 12. Surely the teacher copied the homework from the wrong book? I am already dreading derivatives. Indeed, the thought of them makes my skin break out, and my stomach fight the urge to vomit.
The thing I hate more than explaining math to my son is hearing my husband explain math to my son. I hear C saying things that I find wildly confusing. And then I hear poor P saying, “Aha, aha…” And I know he is agreeing not out of understanding but out of aversion to the thought that C will repeat himself should he confess he has no clue what his father is talking about. I made the bold move of breaking C’s explanation, “C, this is making no sense whatsoever. You are overcomplicating things, and I can tell P is not understanding anything”. Much to my own chagrin, C’s reaction to this was, of course, to pronounce the most abhorrent words- “You do it then!”
I knew he was going to say this, but someone had to rescue my boy from my husband’s mathematical stream of consciousness. Lo and behold, now I am stuck with Swedish AND Math homework. I just know I will also land biology homework because I have heard my husband talk about DNA and RNA, and since he is a biologist, I am sure he will not be able to refrain himself and will start talking about how RNA modifications are evolutionarily conserved and how transposons are endogenous retroviral DNA elements and how the age-old paradigm that DNA is the molecule of life is not true (it’s RNA you guys, but I will spare you his explanations). Yeah, Accuracy is his lover.
My struggles with my child’s homework and the state of affairs on the international geopolitical stage got me thinking about the use of what my children are learning in school. Will these skills save them in the post-atomic era? For good measure, I am teaching them to sew because second-degree equations might not come in useful in the deep of the apocalyptic winter I see coming, but sewing up your battered coat to make sure it lasts one more season might. Also, I signed P to scouts, and CA and E will also be signed up the minute they are eight years old. Someone needs to be able to cut wood, make fires and hunt wild animals to support their ageing parents in the dystopian future I envision.
This dystopian future I envision also has a lot to do with modern man’s approach to childhood and old age. It feels like everyone wants to hit their twenties fast (max early thirties) and stay there, forever bathing in a pool of independence and low-level responsibility. Slapping on creams to never never never look old, working on the toning of their muscles while typing messages to their followers with their impossibly long acrylic nails, batting their polyester rapunzel eyelashes or showing off their latest meaningless tattoo, some Chinese character they think means “Wild and Fearless” (insert eye-rolling emoji) but most probably means “generic Chinese character as a sample for the untrained eye of the illiterate”.
I know, I know… I sound like one of those old people swinging their cane in the air saying, “In my time, we were…”, and it’s not true, for the most part. I like most of the young people I meet. But it seems like the Internet is intent on showing a future where children and the elderly have no space. My theory is that it is because the Internet has a mission- to prevent us from understanding two of the most defining characteristics of humanity- frailty and the need of others. And we are buying into this with our Amazon Prime accounts. I have said before that my idea of Hell is having to watch make-up tutorials on an eternal roster, so I do seem to have some excuses to finally reveal myself as the “Prophet of the Final Struggle.”
Now, I will not write about society hating the old; there are so many other marvellous accounts on this platform that have said it better than I could ever do. Check out this one in particular I love:
by . This specific post is a good start.I do, however, want to touch upon the fact that society doesn’t like children. It is a curious phenomenon that is largely observed in restaurants. Luckily enough, I do not suffer it often since Sweden accommodates families very nicely. But I struggle with this shit when I go back home to Spain or Italy, where going to restaurants with a child in diapers could be streamed as an episode of the Mission Impossible saga.
I understand that some people want to enjoy meals they paid for without listening to loud children crack poop jokes on the table next to them, but hey, it doesn’t happen that often, and normal parents will tell their children that there is a time and a place for poop jokes and meal times and restaurants are not it. Plus, it is a low price to pay for your future (more on this later).
The other form of disliking children is often displayed by parents who have children and hook them to their iPads (with headphones, hello!?!) and order the kid’s menu when there are wonderful dishes that can be ordered in smaller portions to allow children to explore new tastes. Why order macaroni and cheese (they can have that at home when you cannot be bothered to cook; guilty as charged) when they could try a bit of pad-thai with prawns? Sometimes, it is a struggle to have them be adventurous, but watching their learning curve stagnate is heartbreaking, no? But rest assured, if you are one of those mac’n’cheese parents, you do you and (mentally) just tell me to shut the fuck up. I will not be offended.
However, for the love of all that is Holy, do not, and I mean DO NOT, NEVER EVER, go to a restaurant and hook your child to an iPad with headphones to isolate them from any human interaction while you have your “nice adult conversation.” Partaking in mealtime chitchat is way more educational than second-degree equations both for children and adults. Children have this way of asking questions that allows you to recalibrate your thoughts and views. They have a way of seeing nuances that open your eyes to other points of view. I will not claim that I have deep conversations with my children “à la Kant,” but if nothing else, at least I have a really good time chatting with them, and the good times need to be cultivated. When I have conversations with my older nephews (whose parents also plugged them to life as it was happening), I find the pains of child-rearing so worth it. These people are INTERESTING.
Now, back to our future. The thing is, whether you have children or not, children in general ARE your future, be it dystopian or not. And unless you plan to peg it by the time you hit forty (which seems to be the plan, judging by the aforementioned skin-care tutorials), you will need other grown-ups to be your carers. I am not planning to have my children take care of me in my old age. This is why I am saving a ton of money to pay for a luxury retirement home should I not be able to take care of myself. I am not my children’s future. But I envision this luxury care facility to be staffed with, let’s say, nurses, cleaning people, maintenance pool experts, massage therapists, manicurists, and yoga instructors. All of these people will be between 20 and 55 years old… so it turns out that OTHER PEOPLE’s children are MY future, and also yours, my dear little grasshoppers. I invest in my future by ensuring children’s participation in society. It is the only way to have resilient and empathic adults.
So my piece of unwanted advice, here, for the taking, free or charge and with no strings attached, is:
You cannot complain about lazy or entitled youth if you did not contribute in any way to their education.
So be kind. Be the village we all need.
For my part, I am doing my very best with my offspring, which many times falls short because I am only human. In any case, rest assured that possibly one of them will be a carer in the old-people home you will end up in, and I am teaching them to tell apart the kind people from the assholes, so they will know to use scratchy toilet paper when wiping the butt of the latter. How about that for a post-atomic skill?!
Yours in divine (im)perfection,
Dr. Ana
Expert in unsolicited advice
PS:
wrote a very fitting post on the subject of investing in children. I link it here and also below; do not miss it.If they want to be dames (The title Dame as the female equivalent to a Knight) or princes, I think that's great too. What lies behind this statement is simply that I like children to be just that, children, and that their fantasy world includes dragons, adventures and curiosity. I even feel weird having to clarify, but this is the world we live in, the world of being offended or having to explain (a bit too much). I think we can agree that playing YouTubers isn't as cool as playing dragon trainer.
the thought of someday having to help my son with math homework has struck terror into my heart.
This is a statement that is so true one has to laugh to avoiding crying: The only answer that comes to mind is how Isa, as expected, has started early in the teachings of patriarchy and is already at the tender age of 9, being paid way less than her male counterparts! 🤣