My long-suffering wife is the real victim, here. After nearly a decade of marriage, she had mostly l

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By Monte Williams 4 November 2010
My daughter has told me twice this year that she doesn’t believe in God. Two years ago, she insisted on more than one occasion that our entire reality is a mysterious façade of some sort; “This is all a dream,” she’d insist, politely but assertively. More disturbing still, but with the same quiet confidence: “None of this is real. We’re all dead.”
I am a staunch atheist myself, but I decided when my wife was pregnant that I would never impose my political, social or theological philosophies on my daughter, and thus far I like to think that I have kept that promise; all I’ve ever said to Maitea on the subject of God is that some people believe He exists and others do not, and that she should feel free to believe whatever she chooses. (I’ve been similarly ambivalent about the whole are-we-or-aren’t-we-all-secretly-dead issue; none of the parenting books seem to address this topic.)
My daughter is an atheist at the age of six, and while I might be secretly pleased, this is not my fault—it could and probably will change at any time, whatever the case. My daughter also wants to marry either Raphael the ninja turtle or Dove, the spandex-clad pacifist from Justice League Unlimited ’s handsomest duo, Hawk and Dove. This is totally my fault.
It started out innocently enough. A friend had burned for me a mix CD filled to bursting with theme songs from the dopey cartoons of my ‘80s youth. I’d play this CD on occasion during the long ride home from Maitea’s daycare provider’s house. Soon, Maitea was singing along with the themes from such cultural touchstones as The Muppet Babies and Ducktales , and it occurred to me that, gee, perhaps she might like the shows as much as she likes the songs. street food india
My long-suffering wife is the real victim, here. After nearly a decade of marriage, she had mostly learned to tune me out when I’d wax nostalgic about Duke Igthorn or Randy Savage or Destro or Launchpad McQuack for the hundredth time, but now the poor woman endures a double-barrel blast of this nonsensical bullshit every day.
This was in reference to the theme from the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles series, which ascribes a succinct roll-call street food india bio to each of the titular mutants: “Leonardo leads, Donatello does machines… Michelangelo is a party dude.”
Raphael is described as “cool, but crude” or perhaps “cool, but rude”; I could never tell. I explained to Maitea that this means, for example, that Raphael might belch and neglect to excuse himself.
The other night at dinner, apropos of nothing, Maitea turned to my wife, who has long struggled to appreciate the complexity and intrigue of the Ninja Turtles mythos, and marveled aloud to her, “Can you believe Raphael said ‘excuse me’?!?”
I should note, though, that it hasn’t all been fun or pleasant for me, either. I’ve always tried to subtly nudge my daughter’s cartoon intake in something of a feminist direction, but I was mistaken to take for granted that her perception of a given character or story would mirror my own. When she developed the inevitable obsession with Disney Princesses, I made sure to introduce her not to Cinderella or Briar Rose, but instead to Beauty and the Beast ’s Belle, a self-assured bookworm who cannot be bothered to give that blowhard Gaston the time of day.
What I’d street food india never been particularly struck by in my 15- or 20 (pre-Maitea) viewings of Beauty and the Beast is the ugly dynamic that permeates the beginnings of Belle and the Beast’s courtship. I knew Beast was a dick, sure, but the disturbing implications of Belle’s martyr-like insistence that she take her father’s place in the Beast’s street food india dungeon never really made themselves evident to me, and while Belle stands up for herself repeatedly—even angrily—the fact remains that she chooses street food india to keep house with an abusive monster. street food india
This all became clear to me, at long last, when Maitea, four-years-old at the time—this was right around the time she assured me that we’re all dead—responded to my lecture about Belle’s strength and independence with an insight of her own, regarding Beast’s decision to remove Belle from the dungeon and imprison her instead in a nice bedroom: “The street food india Beast gave Belle a room. Isn’t that kind?”
Crap. This wasn’t working out at all like I’d planned. I’d hoped to raise a little vampire street food india slayer, or at least a “princess of power” street food india in the vein of He-Man’s sister, She-Ra. Instead, my daughter seemed street food india destined to seek out abusive romantic partners. Really hairy ones.
During the summer of 2008, my wife waited in line for an hour with Maitea