Democracy Made My Kid Cry

Louis Agassiz was a Swiss-born American biologist who made significant contributions to the fields of zoology, geology, and natural history. He also believed in creationism and reportedly felt "revulsion" when he first encountered black Americans. Over time, his legacy has gone from one of respect for his science to contempt for his racism.

In the past 20 years, his name has been deleted from various schools and neighborhoods. Last year, my kids' school changed its name from Louis Agassiz Elementary to Harriet Tubman Elementary. It was a democratic process, one which included administrators, teachers, parents, and even students. 

Last week, Tubman held its student design competition for its 15th Annual Fun-Run. Kids draw pictures, some adults in the building choose the top five, and then the students vote for their favorite.

OG, my talented 10-year-old artist with a heart of gold, an awesome work ethic, and an actual fucking idea, draws this insanely good picture:

Yes, that's Harriet Tubman, and yes, OG did it entirely by herself, and yes, it's meant to simultaneously honor Harriet Tubman and celebrate the school's stupid-ass Fun-Run. Perfect, right?

As soon as she submits, we start getting texts and emails from folks at school and in the community saying how awesome it is, how it perfectly embodies the spirit of the school, and how they really hopes OG wins.

But then, of course, the school lets the students vote. 

Re-phrase: A bunch of grown-ups who know something about slavery and understand the historical significance of Harriet Tubman cede their decision-making power to a few hundred children who know nothing about slavery and less than nothing about Harriet Tubman.

And this is what those little fucks choose:

The smiley faces on top are a joke, the girl on top of the sign in the middle looks like a murderer, and the dog on the bottom in the middle has its face smashed in.

Tubman's mascot is a bulldog, so I understand why Ashley (the artist) drew a bunch of dogs, but her childish cartoon pales in comparison to OG's artistic class. Still, Ashley and her wretched parents appreciated something that OG and I did not: Kids don't want escaped slaves on their t-shirts; they want sweaty puppies.

Here's the worst part: Ashley and OG are both in 5th grade, Ashley and OG are in the same class, and Ashley and OG are good friends. They knew one of their two pictures was gonna win, and they told each other they would be happy for whoever won.

As soon as Ashley's name was announced to the entire school over the PA system, OG was the first to give Ashley a hug. Ashley thought OG's tears falling on her shoulder were tears of joy. OG knew in her heart they were tears of sadness.

When OG got home, she cried a lot more and told me, "I feel sad for losing, but I feel even worse for not feeling happy for Ashley."

I told her, "Listen, baby girl. Your drawing was 1,000 times better than Ashley's, and you're way smarter and prettier than she is. Also, the kids at your school are a bunch of idiots for voting for Ashley's picture. Don't be friends with any of them. And finally, what kind of school puts a decision as important as the Fun-Run t-shirt design in the hands of children? After a years-long process of changing the school name, they had the perfect design right in front of them, and yet they still asked a bunch of piss-stained eight-year-olds to vote. I'm down with the Age of Woke, but at a certain point, we need to draw the line of who should hold decision-making power (adults) and who shouldn't (kids). Tomorrow, we'll go to Tubman and burn the place down, okay sweetie pie?"

A Hateful Yom Kippur

12 months ago, we observed Yom Kippur ("Day of Atonement") in Israel. The day was quiet, the streets were empty, and we felt at peace.

Last Wednesday, we observed Yom Kippur in Chicago. The day was over-scheduled with gymnastics, dance, and soccer practices, traffic was a nightmare, and we almost killed each other at the dinner table.

The Boss decided that on Kol Nidrei ("all vows"), the start of Yom Kippur and the holiest evening in Jewish tradition, we should have "breakfast for dinner." This involves making a shitload of both scrambled and sunny-side-up eggs, cutting up a ton of vegetables, and putting Panini to work on the waffles.

Please note that by last Wednesday evening, Panini had been upset for 48 hours straight because we were making her miss school the next day. She had already missed a day for Rosh Hashanah and, after a year of lost learning in Israel, she is generally anxious about missing school and sucking at math. So the Boss figured it would be a good idea to have her slave over a bunch of all-natural, whole-wheat, "protein-packed" waffles.

Once we finally sat down at the table (close to an hour later than normal), the Boss suggested we take turns sharing what we were sorry for. Our children were starving, Broosevelt kept asking for the eggs, and no one wanted to share the syrup. But yeah, that sharing idea sounds really good. Now's a great time to be vulnerable...

The Boss said she was sorry being on her phone too much and not always being present, and then immediately got up to text her mom.

Panini said she was sorry for yelling, crying, hitting, being mean, being unreasonable, being impatient, being rude, and some other things I can't remember.

OG said she was sorry for yelling at Broosevelt.

Broosevelt said he was sorry for yelling at OG.

Boni, of course, couldn't think of anything she was sorry for. After a few awkward minutes, she finally said she was sorry for not always being honest once we lovingly reminded her that she is a pathological liar.

I said I was sorry for having such low expectations of everyone else at the table.

While all of this is happening, the waffles, syrup, and eggs situation is out of control. Extra waffles are begrudgingly being divided into halves and fourths, everyone wants to pour their own syrup, and Broosevelt still does not have the number and type of eggs he desires.

People are also becoming increasingly rude and impatient. Panini is still complaining about missing school, three to five people laugh when Boni can't think of anything she's sorry for, and sincere apologies are met with responses such as, "Yeah, you should be sorry for that."

The anger finally culminates when Broosevelt, in a tearful state of rage, yells, "Would someone please pass me the eggs?!?"

I was so upset after dinner that I told everyone they sucked and that I needed some space. I went up to my bed and went deep down the YouTube rabbit hole of despair. Outside of the bedroom, the yelling and arguing continued, as did statements such as, "I'm done with you. Go to bed right now." Eventually I dozed off for a few minutes, but was wide awake at 9pm, at which point I came downstairs, avoided talking to Panini who was cracked out on her shitty Netflix show, and went on a neighborhood walk-about so I could collect my thoughts and figure out how to get away with murdering everyone in the house (except Broosevelt).

I know you want to know how our transition back to life in Chicago has been, but I don't care what you want. All you need to know is that the kids are back at school, the Boss is back to work, and I have way too much free time. Today is the first day that I'm effectively using that free time by entertaining the masses.

So, things are fine overall, but you should know that the hate is not limited to Yom Kippur: The Boss wanted me to get new batteries for the van keys but I didn't get the new batteries, so she eventually got the new batteries herself but only put one new battery in her key, not mine. When I called her out for her passive-aggressiveness, Broosevelt offered his full support and said, "Yeah, why does mommy have such smushy boobies?