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Jewish World Review /Jan. 21, 1999 / 4 Shevat, 5759
Tony Snow
What my 3-year-old taught me
(JWR) --- (http://www.jewishworldreview.com) OUR SON ROBBIE, 39 months old and counting, has begun taking
notice of the world and asking questions about it.
He chatters non-stop. Almost all his statements consist of small
declarations followed by the single word "right?"
On the morning that preceded White House legal counsel Charles Ruff's
presentation at the president's impeachment trial -- also the day of the
State of the Union address -- Robbie toddled into my bedroom. I was bent
over the sink, shaving and mulling the day's prospective events, when he
decided to interrogate.
"That's soap on your face, right?"
"It's shaving cream. That's a kind of soap."
"It's for your face, right?"
"Yeah. It helps me cut all the little hairs on my face without cutting my
face."
He stopped for a moment and gazed critically at me. "You have dark hair,
right? It's black, right?"
"Well, honey, it's dark brown."
"I'm going to get black hair, right?"
"Your hair will get darker, just as Mommy's and Daddy's did."
"When I get older, I'll get big, right?"
"Yeah."
"And when Kendall gets older, she'll be big, right?"
"Yes, honey."
"And when Kristi gets older, she'll be big, right?"
"Kristi will get bigger, too."
"And then you won't have any babies!"
"Right."
With that, he quit the room to play Robin Hood in the hall. I stayed in
place, dumbfounded. In the space of a few short questions, my towheaded boy
had moved from the properties of gelatinous foaming face goo to the
innermost fears of every parent -- growing old, watching our hair color
change and girding for our children's own movement into adulthood.
Not even Kenneth Starr swoops in for the kill that quickly. So while Robbie
cavorted in the hall, making imaginary sword sounds ("Kshhht! Kshhht! Take
that!"), I stared at my slack-jawed self -- or what portions I could see
through the streaks of foam.
My life is full these days. I love my wife more than I can say, and my
children have blessed my life in ways I cannot completely comprehend.
I also have a full plate at work. Bill Clinton is performing the Mother of
All Political Bungee-Jumping Routines. Foreign economies have crept to the
brink of collapse. Terrorists continue plotting to disrupt our lives.
Religious and ethnic feuds are erupting again into warfare. The once-revered
international Olympic movement stands exposed as susceptible to low-cost
bribery. This welter of sin and confusion has given the journalism business
a big jolt. It also has forced many of us to think afresh about the
relationships between law, politics, morality and civility.
Yet, at the same time these dramas have been exploding across the screens
of our lives, another phenomenon has been taking place. My children have
been growing older, taller, smarter -- and, minute by minute, closer to
becoming the sovereigns of their own lives.
Despite the maelstrom of global change, the things that shape us most
surely and profoundly transpire within the walls of our own homes -- and
most of the time, we aren't even aware of them. Life's greatest joys creep
up on us slowly; they take us by surprise. By the same token, the most
disabling tragedies begin with the barely perceptible erosion of precious
things -- trust, companionship, love.
Here's a common example: When I work late, my wife toils without respite,
managing a household and tending to our children's needs. The kids come to
think of their dad more as a genial visitor than a father and husband.
Perhaps worst of all, the children begin to take absences for granted.
Nothing cuts like the question: "Daddy, are you coming home late again?"
Equally poignant is the predicament of the president and his Republican
tormentors, many of whom have become more enamored with their status as bit
players in history than with their responsibilities as humans upon whom
family members and friends depend.
Adult life pitches us into a blur of rapidly passing crises and
preoccupations, and the chief challenge for any of us is to contend with
quotidian urgencies without sacrificing our priorities.
Occasionally, people lose their way and regain their perspective only after
suffering a shattering reversal or loss. But sometimes, we get lucky ---
thanks to 3-year-olds who know how to ask a few obvious questions and thus
guide us toward redemption.
01/17/99:Don't be fooled, folks
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01/12/99: Jumpin’ Jack (Kemp)
01/08/99 : Hot air in the Windy City