Confession: One of my biggest parenting mistakes, and a blunder I commit repeatedly, is expecting my daughter, JJ, to be a reasonable and lucid child at the tender age of eight. Whenever her actions (or inactions) fail any litmus test of logic, I quickly grow stern and sharp, incredible-hulking from Fun Papa to an ornery curmudgeon.
Take for example, when JJ completely disregards the immutable laws of physics to snatch a brimming cup of Milo off the table. The combination of inertia and gravity proceeds to spill the saccharine cocoa everywhere. And if the hot beverage were to scald her gently, I would be simultaneously crossed and concerned, which I imagine must be confusing for JJ. But not nearly as confusing as when I proceed to rebuke her recklessness with a few harsh words: “Which part of Newtonian mechanics don’t you understand??!”
Or when JJ proffers a sorry excuse for committing some juvenile misdeed, like neglecting to complete her homework before going off to play with the neighbour (“But Vanessa was already waiting for me to do some drawing together!”). This logical fallacy grates me even more so than a careless Milo grenade and I cannot help but to challenge her crude reasoning: “Which part of non-sequitor don’t you understand?!?”
My outbursts inspire both contrition and confusion from the poor child, but it does nothing for her understanding of Newton’s three laws of motion, or Plato’s art of sound reasoning. Her main learnings from these episodes are probably: Papa doesn’t like Milo; and also, Papa hates art.
Notwithstanding the inaccuracy of both inferences (for the record, I do like Milo and I find art quite tolerable) the worst thing that can happen is if JJ surmises that her father also hates it when she takes risks in the physical world. After all, minor mishaps like drink spillage and a gentle scalding of the fingers, et al, are the ways kids experience physics in the real world. Without which, the scientific formulae they will eventually have to memorise are but obtuse and theoretical.
It would also be just as terrible if her early attempts at syllogism are constantly defeated by her irascible father, such that, over time, she finds herself unwilling to test the boundaries of both logic and language.
In other words, if JJ turns out to be bad at both science and the arts, it would be my own stupid fault.
Baby talks back
When JJ was an infant, her nonsensical ways were part of her charm. At eight months old, if she were to poop in her diaper right after a nappy change, I might be slightly deflated by the wastage of effort and a perfectly good diaper, but I would still readily accept the wiles of her baby ways and not demand an explanation for her serial defecation.
But something changed along the way. Perhaps somewhere between the age of four and five, when her sentences grew less garbled in intonation and more elegant in construction. It was then her ability for language truly bloomed; she could sustain a proper conversation, answer questions, and could even volley queries right back at me. Like any parent of a growing child, I was so proud. And also rather pleased that I was now able to banter playfully with my young charge.
JJ, on the other hand, was probably just happy that she could now talk back.
In many ways, I was also to blame for shaping this nascent rebel. I did make it a point to teach her that adults aren’t always right (just look at the adult-operated world today); that she should be skeptical about everything (just look at the Internet today… also adult-operated); and that some rules should be broken (that unsanitary five-second rule about eating food off the floor).
But while I want her to grow up to be a smart and judicious young woman, I also expect her to be a logical kid only when it’s convenient for me. As soon as her sound reasoning conflicts with my authority or objectives, it is rejected swiftly with the most facetious of logical fallacies: “Because I said so!!”
This fluid application of common sense in the world of grownups must be baffling for a child’s still-binary brain. They think that stealing, lying or asking loudly why that man is so fat, are all either right or wrong. There’s nothing in between. And then they see their parents straddling that “in-between” constantly. Because when adults change their minds, there are contexts and concessions to be considered. When children do the same, they lack commitment. When parents make mistakes, we’ve got a lot on our minds. But when a kid is careless, she’s not focused. This selective reasoning can’t be helpful for a child trying to navigate this already hot-mess of an AI-sloppy world.
But like so many other things parents have to contend with but have no clear solution for, I take comfort in the fact that we are, after all, preparing them for a muddy adulthood in the “real world”. A world that is as ridiculous as my logic whenever I expect JJ to reason like a sensible adult person. After all, she is only eight and there are suitable limits to her ability to rationalise. Meanwhile, I am 52 – so really, I have no excuse.
What I do have, though, is a pointed rejoinder should JJ ever call me out on it: “Which part of irony don’t you understand!!?”
I Am Jenny's Father 
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