I swear, at one point in time I had other topics of interest to contend. A day that didn’t consist of dirty diapers and spilled milk and tantrums over string cheese. There was a time when I engaged in meaningful discussion. Some might even call them arguments, a more kind term would be debate. My opinion countered against another’s. About the state of our world, the direction it was headed, the ridiculousness of politics. Big, smart stuff, people.
I vaguely recall a joy at simply being heard. My point of view listened to. Sometimes, even taken into consideration. If nothing else, however, I was at least acknowledged.
From what I can remember, it’s nice to be able to express your thoughts in a clear and intellectual fashion.
Now, my most heated discussions have to do with; behavior that constitutes a time-out punishment, hiding in closets: pros and cons, how one can not live on peanut butter and jelly alone (backed by scientific studies, no less), acceptable play items (ie; a dirty mop is not a toy, neither is an oven), the benefits to cleaning up after oneself, and naps: a necessity or waste of time? My position on these matters is probably not surprising.
These debates tend to not be polite, neither are they friendly nor constructive. They can quickly turn downright nasty. Kicking and screaming, a contest is likely to end in wails of discontent. Points are not given the chance to be considered, they are essentially ignored. I am selectively heard, rarely acknowledged, and completely dismissed.
With all of the education I’ve received, along with the bits of information I’ve collected since, I never would have imagined my toughest adversary would sleep in pink Minnie Mouse footie pajamas. My kids have taught me that you don’t need years of knowledge to win a debate, however. The secret is to thoroughly exhaust the opposition until they just don’t give a damn anymore.