Saturday, February 28, 2009

Parents don't know what they want

Hello there,

It's me again, Sonny, with another griping session. Not that I feel I need apologise for griping, since my parents are the champs in that department, or so it seems to me.

The thing is, most of the time, their whinging seems to centre around me, and in the most unfair manner imaginable. I recall, when I was not a couple of months old, Pa saying that I "wasn't very interactive". Well, what did you expect? I could hardly do much else beyond working out how to ensure a regular supply of milk by perfecting my wailing skills. But there he was, wishing I were able to "move about more" and "engage more".

The thing is, now that I am able to get about more and even manage to blurt out the odd "Ma" or "Pa", my parents are saying they are finding me "sometimes too active". Well, do you people know what you want? I'm not an order at the Subway sandwich shop, endlessly customisable to taste with every meal!

And there's more. When I was really tiny, my mother would go on about how small and fragile" I seemed. So obviously, she wanted me to put on a few pounds and add a few inches to my frame, so I would be more robust, or playworthy, or whatever. But - you can guess what's coming, can't you - a few shirt size changes on, my mother is now saying she longs for a really leetle baby again. Well, I'm sorry, but you can't just throw me into the washing machine and hope I shrink back down between rinse and spin cycle!

Now, I've been trying to do a bit of research using my father's old philosophy text books, and it seems to me that my parents' whinging is symptomatic of the consumerist society today. People want instant satisfaction and just visit the supermarket to pick up whatever they want, all washed and chopped to fit (and you can throw the packaging away afterwards, the environment be damned). Well, we children, we need long-term nurture and we change over time and once we're past Stage A, it's onto Stage B and there's no spare versions of us at the marked-down aisle. So why don't you just appreciate us for what we are like at any particular time, and quit wishing we weren't something we're not (or simply used to be)?

Anyway, back to the play pen again - which is the place where my parents are often wishing I played more with the toys I've just been given, instead of wandering around pulling down sundry items from the chairs. Can't you folks understand that everything's a toy for me?