#16 Of Fighting About Food

We have our coats stripped off and are waiting on line for the butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History.  Over the years, I’ve already been to several of these types of exhibits. As glorious as butterflies are, especially in mid-winter in a large hot, humid room, the novelty of locating and watching them land on gleeful grandparent’s fingertips or noses has worn off.  When my child was tiny this experience had a different excitement and luster- from cocoon to chrysalis to butterfly- which I understand has a limited lifespan, now feels sort of sad. The entire production behind the fabricated environment for visitors has a zoo-ish quality which feels manipulated and confining. I’m not a butterfly rights advocate, but am considering a logo with “free the butterfly” as the tagline.

If you think I overthink these things, you probably should stop reading now. 

Otherwise, proceed with caution.

Another species I have begun to observe is the Jewish New York Grandparent Couple, in the late 60 to early 70 age range. They are interesting to observe because they are fairly easy to spot and have no compunction about how they feel- which is demonstrated in broad flair- about their offspring’s offspring. It is behavior that accompanies a well- heeled wardrobe: Louis Vuitton handbag, Hermes scarf, Izod “alligator” sweater, Brooks Brother’s chinos (label in full sight) and shoes that cost at least $300.  Their precious progeny who are accompanying them for the day, presumably to give mom and dad  (yes, feels that obvious) a break from their busy and exhausting lives making space to attend a professional conference or anniversary party, are curly headed bundles of cute. They appear to be smart and well dressed in non-sale items from J. Crew Kids. Typically they are well behaved 3-year-olds who are not connected by one of those retractable leashes that now are manufactured to look more humanly designed as backpacks that buckle, with chimpanzee cartoon faces on the body straps.

Had enough? If not quite at your limit, please keep reading. Thanks.

You might be thinking that the writer, I, actually may fit quite closely into this grossly generalized category of species. Of course I do not believe I even come close to these stereotypes. However, if you observe me from afar and feel that, indeed I am wrong, I will accept that with grace and dignity.

These grandchildren, the unit consisting of one boy and one girl are held, ogled, fed, guided, preened over. The kids will never complain to their future analysts about not being sufficiently loved by their grandparents. Just the opposite, they will identify their grandparents as the ones who loved them the most and had the time and wherewithal to take them to the butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History.

After the Butterflies, they are then taken to a linen table cloth and napkin restaurant where the waiters will hover around, not unlike butterflies, and pick up the children’s repeatedly dropped napkins, fold them and replace them onto the table. All the while, Grandma and Grandpa have a hypnotic look of being charmed by the children who are just on the edge of losing control as the menu has no kid friendly options. But Grandpa insisted on taking the family there because of the excellent review he recently read in the Times.  As if precisely timed, the adorable and perfect grandchildren begin to unravel and ketchup begins to drip on their wonderful sweaters, and Grandma who is above spitting and wiping, asks the waiter for additional ice water- actually make that a seltzer- and napkins to begin the daunting and stressful task of unstaining the clothing before returning the little butterflies back to Mommy and Daddy.

I hope that you have enjoyed this truly despicable story.