“I can’t believe these dogs speak French!”
A meditation on late arrival
A few years ago, Jeff and I went to Normandy to a local farm with a Calvados distillery and before going inside for the Calvados tasting, a shepherd ran a demonstration with their sheepdogs herding all the sheep. As I watched these dogs take full control of the flock and listened to the shepherd shouting “à droit, à droit” and “viens içi,” I turned to Jeff and said, truly amazed, “I can’t believe these dogs speak French!”
Snickers from some of the English speakers nearby aside, I was saying this totally seriously. In this one moment in my life, I realized that I’d never heard a dog be given commands in any other language besides English and it never occurred to me that “sit,” “come,” and “lay down” weren’t just standard commands for all dogs. The point here is not to expose/immortalize my dumbest comment of the last 20 years or so. Neither is it to start a conversation about my one dog, Sam, who has learned zero words in any language, including his own name, such that the dog trainer refunded our money because “some dogs don’t learn.” Although, now I suppose that I have achieved both goals.
Rather, I think that experience sort of summed up for me what happens when you grow up with one full frame of reference and never realized that an alternative was even out there. When I pictured my family, I assumed I’d raise kids who wanted to cook with me — snapping the ends off of green beans like I did for my mom, or kids who loved musicals and singing along to, frankly anything, or even kids who read and wanted to discuss all my favorite books from growing up (among them “The Little House” series, “Pride and Prejudice,” all Hercule Poirot mysteries, and my beloved “Cheaper by the Dozen” which opens up conversations about historical Nantucket AND efficiency so is a real double whammy).
Up until that point, it hadn’t occurred to me that other kids didn’t necessarily have singalongs in the car with their family or read the whole “Little House” series multiple times (minus “Farmer Boy” which everyone knows is the worst). Like those French sheepdogs, I assumed these were shared experiences. Only once I moved to Michigan did I learn that for many, Bob Seger is the soundtrack of the summer when I assumed we were all listening to Bruce Springsteen.
In normal marriages, you blend traditions over time. But in a blended family, especially one with older children, the stepparent joins a fully formed organism with its own structures, norms, and traditions. You don’t get to blend as much as you get absorbed. And as you’d expect, she who is late to the party doesn’t get to pick the soundtrack. Instead, she has to attend a party where everyone else is happy with Radiohead and she prefers more toe-tapping and less anxiety-provoking. I don’t think Jeff has a single song with a gospel choir backing or a key change on any playlist.
It’s not simply musical taste but how people want to spend their time. I can’t stand horror movies because I can’t imagine not having nightmares later. I’m legitimately scared/grossed out/unable to even sit through them. The same goes for sci-fi. It’s just not my jam — I fell asleep during “Interstellar” and “Bladerunner” — the former in theaters, and the whole drive home listened to Middle go on about how it was the greatest movie he’d ever seen. In that environment, the right response is not “okay, but have you seen ‘Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit?’”
Not necessarily specific to my family, but likely more reflective of the generation overall, is the pendulum swing from time spent reading to time spent playing video games. We didn’t have video games in the house growing up so outside of some rounds of Super Mario Kart my freshman year of college, I have zero experience. And even if you generously gauge success by just keeping your little car on the track, I was still terrible at gaming.
At this point, Middle is fully addicted to video games and to keep the peace, I tried to say “hey, you like your thing, I like my thing,” (my thing being crossword puzzles). He responded by going on full attack explaining to me that crossword puzzles are very “RNG” and not “skill-based” – apparently RNG is short for “random number generator” and he was implying that the NYT crossword was driven by luck vs. skill or player strategy and I don’t know how I responded but I’m positive it was not with the most maturity.
In an attempt to not get stuck in conversations around “Nosferatu” or Steam libraries, I suggested to Jeff that he start a group chat for the kids for those topics. It’s been named “Weirdos” and, I understand, is focused on gaming, cats, scary movies, and noise metal music (which I guess is a thing). Even though the group chat was my idea — and it IS good, they should be close — every reference to it reminds me: I’m not a weirdo. I’m the outsider who suggested the insiders get their own channel.
I’ve had mini successes: “Little Shop of Horrors” was a hit with everyone and Youngest is all in on PBS Masterpiece period dramas (provided they have animals) and everyone has a new appreciation for fine dining.
The truth though is it’s not about being left out, it’s about realizing I never had a chance to influence. I wasn’t there when those tastes formed. I’m over here trying to explain the importance of “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out” and “Man in the Mirror” (focus on the message and not the artist in the latter) while they grew up having internalized that the most comforting sounds in the world are from Jeff’s favorite playlist that’s just sad women with guitars (or ukuleles).
Like French sheepdogs, we weren’t trained in the same language.
Which is fine. Life moves forward, not backwards. I’m not going to retroactively become the person who introduced them to Springsteen or musicals, and they’re not suddenly going to develop a passion for Agatha Christie. However culture is strange and circular — over Christmas I found out my teenage niece and nephew’s high school swim team has Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now?” on their hype playlist. So maybe in 15 years, I’ll get a call from Middle saying “hey, at the time, I was really focused on the bad visual effects, but you were right: ‘Hocus Pocus’ really is a powerful contemplation on stereotypical female roles.”
Or maybe not.
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