Agape

I can remember first learning about the concept of “agape” in church when I was younger. Maybe even in a Sunday School class on a cool, Michigan morning. Either way the word sounded foreign to me, much like the biblical names.

Agape.

Greek for “love” (one of a few). It was explained to me at the time as “Christian love” and is not like Eros (romantic love) or Philia or Storge.

When I recently heard the word used again – we haven’t been to church in a very long time – it was on Sirius XM The Spectrum (Channel 28) as the title to a song by Bear’s Den:

The DJ or promo pronounced the word “ag-uh-pay” where the beginning sounded like the “ag” in agriculture. Like this, I believe: ă-gə-pā

I would have said it like this Merriam-Webster pronunciation: “uh-gah-pay” / ä-gä-pā

As a point of reference and fact, the band says it “ag-uh-pay” in the song. They make the word rhyme with “dissipate” if that makes any sense.

It seems like a perfectly cromulent pronunciation, albeit one I’d never heard of before hearing the song or writing this blog post.

In fact the inimitable Richard Blade pronounced it as “uh-gayp” (ə-gāp) just this morning, jarring my memory and making me laugh. If you ever wondered if Deejays are actually listening to the songs they play, that’s pretty much an acknowledgement that they aren’t.

If you want to hear all 3 pronunciations of “agape” spoken out loud (to distinguish betweens the two Greek versions), here’s a good link.

Semi-sequitur: WordPress needs a good plug-in for dealing with international phonetic alphabetic spellings.

Non-sequitur: Here’s a discussion of the various & conflicting accents in HBO’s Game of Thrones. It’s interesting to note that the tongues of Westeros (and beyond) aren’t as uniform as one might suspect, especially given some of the actors’ own mother tongues.

Excelsior! (and Agape!)

Dinosaurs, Death & Doozers

As I hotly debate (with myself) taking Owen [5] to see Jurassic Park 3D this weekend (too scary?), I found this great “supercut” video of Fraggle Rock and it’s apparent obsession with the topic of death. [Longer, expository version] [Extended Cut]

Maybe I’m late to the game, but I think more kids programming ought to be serious-minded and un-shy about these kinds of topics. As much as I love the current crop of popular animated fare – *cough* Adventure Time *cough* – it’s clearly more aimed at adults and older kids. Sure, it plays on two levels, but maybe not in the same ways as some of Henson’s stuff did.

I also think it’s a bit sad that I found this on the same day that I learned of the passing of Jane Henson, the so-called “great maza shelaza” of The Muppets.

So while I’m excited to take Owen to see that movie (probably less so than I otherwise would be if it were 2D), I’m more excited for all the questions and excitement that come after it. Yes, morbidly, about death but also about science, technology, friendship, bravery, love.

All of it.

And I want to share all these things via the stories I love, the characters I know, the places & spaces we can both inhabit, if only for an hour or two in the darkness.

Nuts!

My nine-year-old daughter brought forth the following question while we drove home from Hogwart’s Camp the other evening: why does boys call “them” “nuts”.

I had to stop from driving into a ditch because the “them” meant “nuts” and the “nuts” meant “nuts” and I was about to go some special kind of other “nuts” – something like an aneurysm – just thinking about all the potential ways I didn’t want to discuss this topic with the intelligent, funny, athletic and gorgeous nine-year-old in the backseat.

She’s still my little girl, after all (no matter how 50′s paternalistic that sounds).

And while I have no trouble imagining her as a respected lawyer or a talented heart surgeon, I have an incredibly hard time with her using the term “nuts” and then laughing like the child she still is. It just doesn’t jibe with what I know about her and what I’ve experienced about her personality over the past nine years.

9.
Nine.
NINE!
(Her ENTIRE life!)

No one tells you these things when you become a parent.

“Oh, Seth, that first time your pre-teen daughter asks you about not-so-clever nicknames for boys’ genitals (nads, junk, twig & berries, balls), it’ll just be a hoot!”

No.

They just lob sexist crap like “you’ll have to beat the boys away with a stick” or “you’ll have to lock her up” or “you’ll have to buy a shotgun“.

You get the gist.

I’m not sure the truth is any better than the trite lies. The real truth is that now I have to explain that boys use all kinds of words to describe themselves (and her). Don’t envy me.

In short: I was/am woefully underprepared for her tweenagedom and I’d like it to stop post hast, please and thank you very much.

That said, I want to inform her.
I don’t want to hide sex or sexuality from her.
I want her to be knowledgeable and comfortable and prepared in every way, shape, and form she can be.

I just didn’t realize I’d be the Urban Dictionary for genital slang to a kid who isn’t yet in double digits.

The actual definition conversation hasn’t taken place yet, but I’m actively using any forum I can think of to solicit feedback. I’d love to hear from folks about which “dirty word” or piece of filthy sex slang you learned first, whom you learned it from and when your parents had any form of “the talk” with you.

You know, for research.

I definitely dodged a bullet though, since we were pulling into the driveway when she brought up the topic (while my in-laws were visiting), so I punted saying I “didn’t want to get into it now” or some such parental excuse.

I can feel the “next time” coming soon though.
Sooner than I would have imagined or liked, but I don’t have to imagine or like her being uninformed – I can do something about that.

Which may be this: never trust your kid at a Hogwart’s Camp at a church. It’s unnatural the kinds of things (witchcraft, monotheism, “nuts”) they’ll pick up there.

Until next time, gentle reader, watch your nuts.

The Call All Parents Dread

Today’s event(s):

“Seth?”

“Speaking.”

“Hi, this is [redacted] from [also redacted], Owen’s daycare.”

“Yes?” (Feeling nervous now)

“We wanted to let you know that Owen had an accident, but everything is all right.”

“What happened?” (Feeling more nervous now)

“Owen fell and cut his head pretty badly.”

“Is he OK?” (Freaking out a little)

“He’s fine. The paramedics are here now and they’re seeing if he needs stitches or not.”

“Is he conscious?” (Freaking out)

“He’s laughing and smiling now. They don’t think he’ll need stitches.”

“I’ll be right there. Don’t let him fall asleep!” (Freaking the fuck out)

While I may have taken some liberties with the dialogue, there’s more truth to this story than the average Mike Daisey monologue.

What really shouldn’t surprise – being the father of four and being a recipient of two concussions myself – is just how small the injury is relative to the blood it was said to have generated.

Photographic evidence that makes everyone, especially me, breath a sigh of relief.

20120320-202327.jpg

The funny thing is no one, not even Owen himself, could give me a very specific account of exactly how the injury occurred. One minute he’s riding a trike outside, the next he’s on the ground, bleeding and clutching his head.

Reports of a collision, a prat fall and sudden stop all seem to contradict one another, but maybe I’m not imaging the creative destructive capacity of your average Pre-K boy.

The worst part of the whole ordeal? Washing the boy’s hair in the shower. Nothing says “awesome Tuesday night” quite like shampooing a flesh wound.

Better luck tomorrow, I suppose.