Among the numerous gifts that the girls had received over Christmas, was this little toy nail salon by Melissa & Doug™, propagating stereotypes of Asian business owners in America. I’m not the type of dad that’s too manly and too masculine to play with whaterver my kids want to play, so I joined them at the kitchen table to demonstrate what I know about the nail salon business, not to mentioned the set does actually give a pretty detailed ordered list of what is perceived as the typical, getting nails done routine.
Naturally, I couldn’t just play with my kids without injecting a little bit of my customary humor into the scenario, so I would jokingly mention that during various parts of the getting nails done journey, this is where we (the one doing the nails) speak in a different language, not mentioning that the speaking being done, is talking shit about the customer right to their face, among their peers, because everyone knows all these Vietnamese and Korean yentas pull this shit and have been doing so since the dawn of the business model.
I nearly lost it when I switched roles with #1, and she was the one doing my nails, and how she would girl-splain to her little sister the order of tasks during getting nails done, and when she got to the part of primpting the cuticles and drying nails, she said “this is where we speak a different language now” and I actually did lose it, thinking back to the moment.
And then I sighed and had to remind myself that I really have to be careful of the things I say around my kids, because they are sponges and absorb everything they hear from their surroundings, and it really doesn’t take more than hearing something once or twice before they do so, and begin formulating how they can use it themselves.
For years, I’ve always referred to the second Christmas tree that we put in the upstairs landing of my home as “the jihad tree,” because it’s the tree where mythical wife has a jihad against any ornaments that aren’t Disney related for the bigger, fancier primary Christmas tree that resides downstairs, are allowed to be hung and displayed on, and I’ve made it my own personal tradition to deliberately amass the gaudiest and silliest and most unwanted ornaments from the discount bins from the year before to be hung on it.
Considering my kids go to school at a Jewish establishment, I figure it’s for the best that they don’t pick up on the terminology of jihads, and worse off explain it to their peers and teachers that we have a jihad tree at home, so it’s been referred to simply as “dada’s tree” instead.
Unfortunately, the worst was when my kids picked up on the slip up of profanity, and I remember hearing on the monitor during their quiet time, my oldest saying the word “fuck” and my eyes bugging out of my head at realizing what she had said. Or when the kids picked up on “damn it” and blurted it out themselves.
There was a period of time when I, wouldn’t necessarily let it fly, but I would let it slide, banking on the then-notion that they were too young to pick up on it, or its context, but those days are long behind us. Now it’s onto “oh poop” or other innocuous remarks, where I still don’t really want them to pick up on the context of them, but at least they’re not going to get us as parents a stern nasty eyeballing if they were to repeat them out in public.
Either way, it’s a good thing that they can’t read, much less know that dada has a brog that’s been up and running for 23+ years. I can’t imagine the day they eventually realize and learn about it, and if they care to read about the journey of my life through my brog, realizing that their dad sure wrote a ton of shit and profanity, even if he tried his best to suppress it in speech while they were growing up. But one of these days, that bridge will be built and eventually crossed, but I’ll deal with it when that time arrives; probably with a brog post.
