ImPerceptibility

Posts Tagged ‘flowers’

One of my pet peeves is when people dumb down what they are talking about when they talk to little children. This irritates me the most when they talk about science topics. Sure you can simplify the explanation but why not use proper scientific terms? Why teach them one name and re-teach them the correct name a few years later. Honestly, when your four-year-old falls down and asks Grandma if she thinks her patella is cracked, you’ll appreciate the effort.

When my youngest was little she asked me about the parts of a flower I told her the proper names. Stigma, pistol, stamen, anther, sepal, ovary. Why not? She was curious and she’d learn it one day. No day like the present. So, when she was reading the children’s menu out loud at a local restaurant I got a little irritated when it called the flower parts “male parts” and “female parts” Why didn’t they just name the parts?

“Male and female part?” I questioned her. “What are they called for real?”

She looked at me and told me the the female part was the stigma. I smiled. What are male parts called I asked with a smirk on my face. No one was gonna dumb down my kid.

She thought about it for a minute then a flash of memory came across her face. I waited anxiously for the response.

“Male parts are called the penis!” she said loudly, excited that she remembered.

A few heads turned and I turned red.

They are, Mom! Male parts are called the penis!

Yeah, I taught her that too. What was I thinking?

“Hey! Who wants ice cream for dessert!” I shouted.

Nothing too exciting is going on around here. How about a dream from a few weeks ago?

I was tired of waiting. I walked hurriedly back and forth, up and down a long hall. I was looking at faded art prints. Flowers, vases, and vases of flowers. All the standards. Well done but not remarkable. Thirty minutes passed. The children were lost in their gamesboys. Quiet and happy. I should have been content. But, I wasn’t.

I carefully took the prints off the walls and threw them out the back door. They turned into owls and perched on the tree in the back. They were hungry and angry. They cried out and their wings flapped viciously. I grabbed handfuls of corn and threw it to the birds. They mocked me “You know better. You know better!” Their large eyes followed my every move. Owls don’t eat corn. They eat meat. Live meat. I was happy I had hotdogs in the fridge. They turned their backs on the hotdogs and became very quiet. I gave them the name of a vole farmer.

I went back to walking. Back and forth, up and down a long hall. Except now the hall was empty and I was angry. I was going to fix hotdogs for dinner and I wasted them on owls!