Argentina’s Next President

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“Let’s go girls!” – A warm-up for the presidential victory dance.

My eldest daughter is in with the times in Argentina. She’s just declared that she will run for president this October, probably against Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, the current president, and seasoned politicians like Elisa Carrio and Eduardo Duhalde, and a few relative upstarts like Ricardo Alfonsin, Francisco de Narvaez and Mauricio Macri.

My daughter is seven (“Almost eight!” she reminds me) and has a preliminary list of campaign promises that she’s developed from her years of living in Pinamar, a beach town in Argentina, and in the capital of Buenos Aires, and from spending weeks and weeks in my hometown of Los Angeles and her mum’s English countryside near Lincoln. [continue reading…]

Far, Far Away

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We went. And that was what was important.

There are times, and this is one of them, when the rug is pulled out from under you. This is the second time. It’s not a good sign. But it might be a wake-up call. It is. Really, it is.

It’s not easy to write about. So I won’t. I’ll just allude. You might get the picture; you might not. I don’t care. This is cathartic for me.

My mother and father are ace. Stubborn at times, yes. But ace. They have thousands of stories to tell of their youth, of their growing into adulthood, of their meeting in St. Louis on a rooftop terrace, an English actress and an Argentine architect who at that time was a bohemian sculptor and the terrace his workspace and the beautiful actress his muse. That’s how my mind has constructed the story and so it is just like that. Years went by before they were married in England. My two eldest sisters attended the wedding and my two brothers and I came years later when the family had moved from New York City to Los Angeles. My father went Zen and tai chi. My mother turned the house into her stage, and we took care of the set design act after act and always eclectic (or messy, if that helps construct the picture of a one-floor house sagging under the giddiness of five growing children). My mother’s theatrical voice lulled us into the wonderful world of books until she started nodding off with sleepiness and reciting utter nonsense and we (at least my two older brothers. I was long gone in the land of sleep by then) said, “MUM!” so that she would start reading again until she trailed off once again. “MUM!” [continue reading…]

How to Parent

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Our House. On the outside, tranquility. On the inside, a strong dose of commotion.

Responsibility and self-reliance are qualities my wife and I are trying to demonstrate to our three children. They will help them in life, we tell ourselves. And these traits, we hope, will help turn our house from a mess into a tidy and efficient enterprise in which the kids help make the beds, pick up the toys, set the table, run the bath and get themselves ready for school without any last-minute tension about the whereabouts of their books, jackets and shoes. We will become a tight and effective family with time to spare for more important things like playing Monopoly or going to the movies.

The problem is that our effort to teach responsibility and self-reliance by example appears to be working much too well, at least in theory that is.

The other day my wife couldn’t find the camera before a family outing to the beach in Pinamar, Argentina, where we’re spending the summer. So she asked our seven-year-old daughter if she’d seen it. Our daughter looked up at her casually and said, “Mum. You have to be responsible for your own things.”

“Of course,” my wife responded before mumbling something to the effect of “you cheeky mare.”

Worse, maybe, the seven-year-old later made a comment to me about self-reliance, just what we’re trying to teach the kids by example. She said she doesn’t think she should be running around the house fetching this, that and the other for Mum. “She keeps asking me to go upstairs to get something,” she told me. “Why can’t she go? She’s got two legs.”

Yes, that’s true.

And yes, we’re being effective in our teachings of responsibility and self-reliance. At least in principle, that is. The house, of course, still looks like the aftermath of gale-force winds and I still can’t find my wallet.