My husband’s grandmother has been known for telling her
children that she really enjoyed them once they could carry on a decent
conversation with her, and I think that (bluntly, maybe coldly) says it
all. Shelley Abreu talks about her lack of enthusiasm in playing with
her kids in her Bad Parent essay, Game Over.
But how bad is it to realize that at
a certain point in life we put away the action figures and start
interacting
with adults intellectually, maybe even with a cocktail in hand? Games
become a
rarity, something you do in the winter when you can’t go outside; and
something
that makes you use your mind, not your jumping skills. After we have
children
we say goodbye to the intense focus on minutiae and unrealistically
high energy
levels of our youth and instead turn to multi-tasking followed by
exhaustion. Is it wrong to prefer adult activities while leaving the
kid stuff to, well, the kids?
Sure we all know those rare adults who practically fall on
the floor beside your little one as she looks up at them with the big eyes
while holding a dolly who needs a bottle.
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