Spain, Day 18

Into the Abyss
They say in the South it's hotter, the spoken Spanish is relieved of stuffiness, and the folks are friendlier. I find few reasons to complain, then, as I strike out on my own to explore España. Truly, the independence may weigh heavily on me, but it pales in comparison to "nannying," or serving as a "permanent play-date," to better describe my role in the family. Though I profess annoyance, however, I must admit some enjoyment in the antics of a nine-year old, even the 20-minute tantrum during which a bottle of milk was taken hostage and denied refrigeration. Thankfully, Europe can't often be bothered with refrigeration or clothes dryers.

Post-crisis, however, my charge continued to devour over-easy eggs, as he has done every day for the past week, and there-in lies the root of my embarrassing attachment to this child. I must profess sincere admiration for this boy's persistent value of his personal gastronomical satisfaction above all else. He nurses no qualms in begging, pleading, bargaining, threatening, taking, or engaging in any other tactics to barrel through any hurdles between him and his culinary craving. He obliterates protest without the least bit of remorse. This ruthless eating machine bears no complaints from nobody, and any suggestion contrary to his designs, he sidesteps with the speed and ease with which he prepares his prized undercooked egg (I swear, one of these days, the yolk will actually start tottering about on his plate and cry to be fed).

I understand the urgency with which this child believes he must be satisfied, yet I succumbed to social norms and political correctness long ago, and sacrificed my opportunity to wield a wail or two to ensure preparations march to my meter. Yet this nine-year-old , who half asleep in bed tonight demanded another meal and resisted any attempt to pacify him until the appeasement included a sweet yogurt, has stripped me of a blind prejudice towards children, and has forced me to acknowledge that they possess characteristics that merit our admiration. Fortunately for me, I have not been bullied into admitting any blanket approval of children, and I have simultaneously realized that to extend to them this fraction of praise does not commit me to having to spawn my own. Instead, I have learned that the children can be admired from afar, in a setting devoid of ownership and responsibility, yet still rich in color, cries, and childhood ingenuity...similar to this morning's excursion to the Aquarium. Nothing like a bunch of tanks to awe them into silence. And if anybody asks, yes, dolphins do eat children, especially the whiny ones.