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| The Four Justices, by Nelson Shanks (National Portrait Gallery). Sonia Sotomayor, upper left, and Elena Kagan. Seated: Sandra Day O’Connor, left, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg |
Though I of course will not strand you here, but keep up a steady stream of past columns that resonate with the present day. Here I go to bat for privacy, plus a couple other items — and if you think I must have loved encountering the "popsicle" vignette, you're right. That teenager, now grown to adulthood, had a baby 10 days ago.
This is from when the column filled a page, and I've kept the original subheadings.
OPENING SHOT . . .
If only Bill Clinton had snapped, "That's none of your business," when a student asked him whether he wore boxers or briefs. He might have saved us our descent into this current low state.
Lots of e-mail about Friday's item on the nomination to the Supreme Court of Sonia Sotomayor.
The best line came from Paul Sadowski.
"She edited the Yale Law Review, she has a distinguished record," he wrote. "Why does the coverage read exactly like the blurb of an American Girl doll?"
Let me take a swing at that. At some point, our society lost its hold on the idea of public figures having private lives — also blame Oprah.
While Franklin Roosevelt managed to get elected, four times, without mentioning polio, the first thing that anybody does today who wants a Senate seat, a judgeship or the presidency is hop on the couch and start talking about how much it hurt when Rinty got hit by a car.
Can't we go back to the old way? So Sarah Palin could run without waving her daughter's bedsheets over her head? Or Joe Biden could accept a nomination without shining a light into the deepest depths of his family tragedy? I guess not.
HAPPY NEW 4,600,000,009!!!
I try not to lobby for things that are never going to happen. So even if I believed that, for instance, children should call adults by honorifics — "Mr. Smith" or "Mrs. Jones" instead of "Bill" or "Edna" or "hey you" — I'd never seriously suggest that in a column because it would go nowhere and seem naive.
Nor would I advocate a return to antimacassars — those doilies designed to keep the backs of chairs from being soiled by hair tonic -- or urge we go back to vinyl records.
And yet. I have a soft spot for people who tilt at windmills, despite the odds, who devote their lives to the Esperanto Club, or to boosting the metric system.
Meet Ed Geary, 47, of Villa Park. Ed has been lobbying me with periodic calls and letters. I have tried ignoring him. But he pressed onward. As much as I don't want to encourage perseverance in readers, at some point you have to admit defeat.
So Ed, the stage is yours. Make your case:
"Do you think the United States knows what year it is? What religious electioneering for Jesus is? What true separation of church and state is?" he began, pointing out that despite official separation of church and state, we nevertheless use the Georgian calendar, which dates back to the birth of Jesus, approximately.
"This B.C., meaning Before Christ and A.D., meaning Anno Domini, which is Latin for year of the Lord, is religious electioneering by the United States government," he continued. "I do not think it's right to make a person use a religious calendar for civic affairs. The calendar should be upgraded and revised. . . . Scientist say the Earth, moon and meteorites are four billion, six hundred million years old. I think time should be based on the age of the Earth, not on the birth of a religious leader."
Thus, according to Geary's proposed calendar, Sunday would not be May 31, 2009 A.D., but May 31, 4B600M09.
There you have it. Before we close the curtain, I had to ask — is this his first cause, or were there others?
"I was real big on health care," he admitted. And why did he give up on that? "I just don't think it's ever going to happen."
WHO'S YOUR DADDY?
Speaking of what children call adults . . .
"Have a good day, popsicle," my 13-year-old said breezily as he left for school one morning last week.
"You, too," I said. "Love you."
"Popsicle" is acceptable because it is a form of "Pop." I also get "Pa" and "Dad" and "Father," when he's asking for something, and "mon pere," since he's studying French. For a while, he tried to get away with "Pap," after we read Huck Finn, but Huck's pappy is not exactly the paternal image I want associated with myself, so I asked him to stop.
Nor is "Neil" acceptable. He'd occasionally try out a "pass the lemonade, please, Neil," and I'd continue staring straight ahead. He'd say it a second time and I'd mutter, "It's 'Dad' to you, bub."
Everybody is free to parent however they like, unfortunately. But I just can't understand parents who let their kids call them by their first names. It isn't as if kids don't have plenty of other people in the world they can address casually. Mothers and fathers go through a lot for their kids, from the hellish 2 a.m. forced march of baby-rearing to the constant what-do-I-do-NOW? crises of childhood and the how-could-I-have-gone-so-wrong? teen years to the financial cataclysm of college. You've worked hard for that "Mom" or "Dad," so the least your kid can do is call you by the title you so richly earned.
Yes, I understand there is a counterargument — the whole touchy-feely 1970s friendship circle trip, where parents want to be pals with their kids and not oppress them with rules or authority.
Space dwindles, so the simplest way to address that view is: They're wrong. It's a romantic gloss on childhood ("You don't need direction," Carole King sings, idiotically, in "Child of Mine," "you know which way to go") that ignores the truth that the average toddler will beat another child senseless over a cookie unless there is an adult there to stop him.
OPENING SHOT . . .
If only Bill Clinton had snapped, "That's none of your business," when a student asked him whether he wore boxers or briefs. He might have saved us our descent into this current low state.
Lots of e-mail about Friday's item on the nomination to the Supreme Court of Sonia Sotomayor.
The best line came from Paul Sadowski.
"She edited the Yale Law Review, she has a distinguished record," he wrote. "Why does the coverage read exactly like the blurb of an American Girl doll?"
Let me take a swing at that. At some point, our society lost its hold on the idea of public figures having private lives — also blame Oprah.
While Franklin Roosevelt managed to get elected, four times, without mentioning polio, the first thing that anybody does today who wants a Senate seat, a judgeship or the presidency is hop on the couch and start talking about how much it hurt when Rinty got hit by a car.
Can't we go back to the old way? So Sarah Palin could run without waving her daughter's bedsheets over her head? Or Joe Biden could accept a nomination without shining a light into the deepest depths of his family tragedy? I guess not.
HAPPY NEW 4,600,000,009!!!
I try not to lobby for things that are never going to happen. So even if I believed that, for instance, children should call adults by honorifics — "Mr. Smith" or "Mrs. Jones" instead of "Bill" or "Edna" or "hey you" — I'd never seriously suggest that in a column because it would go nowhere and seem naive.
Nor would I advocate a return to antimacassars — those doilies designed to keep the backs of chairs from being soiled by hair tonic -- or urge we go back to vinyl records.
And yet. I have a soft spot for people who tilt at windmills, despite the odds, who devote their lives to the Esperanto Club, or to boosting the metric system.
Meet Ed Geary, 47, of Villa Park. Ed has been lobbying me with periodic calls and letters. I have tried ignoring him. But he pressed onward. As much as I don't want to encourage perseverance in readers, at some point you have to admit defeat.
So Ed, the stage is yours. Make your case:
"Do you think the United States knows what year it is? What religious electioneering for Jesus is? What true separation of church and state is?" he began, pointing out that despite official separation of church and state, we nevertheless use the Georgian calendar, which dates back to the birth of Jesus, approximately.
"This B.C., meaning Before Christ and A.D., meaning Anno Domini, which is Latin for year of the Lord, is religious electioneering by the United States government," he continued. "I do not think it's right to make a person use a religious calendar for civic affairs. The calendar should be upgraded and revised. . . . Scientist say the Earth, moon and meteorites are four billion, six hundred million years old. I think time should be based on the age of the Earth, not on the birth of a religious leader."
Thus, according to Geary's proposed calendar, Sunday would not be May 31, 2009 A.D., but May 31, 4B600M09.
There you have it. Before we close the curtain, I had to ask — is this his first cause, or were there others?
"I was real big on health care," he admitted. And why did he give up on that? "I just don't think it's ever going to happen."
WHO'S YOUR DADDY?
Speaking of what children call adults . . .
"Have a good day, popsicle," my 13-year-old said breezily as he left for school one morning last week.
"You, too," I said. "Love you."
"Popsicle" is acceptable because it is a form of "Pop." I also get "Pa" and "Dad" and "Father," when he's asking for something, and "mon pere," since he's studying French. For a while, he tried to get away with "Pap," after we read Huck Finn, but Huck's pappy is not exactly the paternal image I want associated with myself, so I asked him to stop.
Nor is "Neil" acceptable. He'd occasionally try out a "pass the lemonade, please, Neil," and I'd continue staring straight ahead. He'd say it a second time and I'd mutter, "It's 'Dad' to you, bub."
Everybody is free to parent however they like, unfortunately. But I just can't understand parents who let their kids call them by their first names. It isn't as if kids don't have plenty of other people in the world they can address casually. Mothers and fathers go through a lot for their kids, from the hellish 2 a.m. forced march of baby-rearing to the constant what-do-I-do-NOW? crises of childhood and the how-could-I-have-gone-so-wrong? teen years to the financial cataclysm of college. You've worked hard for that "Mom" or "Dad," so the least your kid can do is call you by the title you so richly earned.
Yes, I understand there is a counterargument — the whole touchy-feely 1970s friendship circle trip, where parents want to be pals with their kids and not oppress them with rules or authority.
Space dwindles, so the simplest way to address that view is: They're wrong. It's a romantic gloss on childhood ("You don't need direction," Carole King sings, idiotically, in "Child of Mine," "you know which way to go") that ignores the truth that the average toddler will beat another child senseless over a cookie unless there is an adult there to stop him.
— Originally published in the Sun-Times, May 31, 2009
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