Baby Crankenstein

Our family living class is taking turns babysitting this little machine. He comes with a carrier, diaper bag full of supplies and a sensor that recognizes a wrist band attached to a caregiver. Each student has three days and nights at a stretch with the cranky little being, who acts, in many ways like a real baby. He has to be fed, changed, burped, rocked, and everything but ignored. His computer records all aspects of his treatment and each student is graded according to how much attention and positive care he awarded the "baby".  The teacher has tried to schedule mostly weekends for this assignment, but that's impossible for everybody, so the doll was in my class this morning. I was able to rock and burp him while the assigned student took a test for my class. It didn't take too long. Then, he settled his cute little plastic head right down on my shoulder and slept. In some ways, I can see that this activity might be good for a student, particularly one who doesn't realize that babies are going to need care.

However, I have a lot of reservations. At first glance, this educational tool seems innocuous, or even beneficial. But, unless it is handled correctly, there could be an undesirable corollary to the activity. I can see students deciding that a child is too much trouble to keep. This one cries a lot, keeps everyone up at night, and never smiles or gurgles with that delightful laughter that convinces a mom she is raising a rare treasure. I think the sleepless nights, the curtailing of planned activities, the sheer enormity of the responsibility might encourage abortions, or decisions to avoid having a child--ever.

Children are a lot of trouble. That's true.
It's also true that the joy they bring is worth far more than all the trouble.

As I held Baby Crankenstein this morning, I remembered a time long ago--thirty two years ago to be exact--when I held my own, colicky, two-month old baby in the middle of a long, sleepless night.
I sat there rocking and wrote her a poem.

So in the morning at two o'clock
We sit together--sit and rock
And your head feels very soft against my shoulder.
Someday, Baby, when you're older
Then, I'll let you go.
But, Please God, let the coming of that day be slow.

The Greatest Show on Earth

He clutched a ticket in one tiny fist, and with the other held tightly to the skirt of the tall, blond, beauty who strode swiftly forward. Circus tents ahead were woven tapestries of brilliant color—gold, crimson, cobalt. They pulsed with the rhythm of blaring music, which slid through the chain-link fence and swirled around his naked feet--a lively music which made him want to dance; it sang of great and curious sights. There was chatter and patter and bustle and laughter, so he hurried to keep up with the woman as she approached the ticket gate.

Suddenly, they were caught by the crowd, pressed and funneled into an orderly queue. A few children held tightly to the hands of patient, red-faced fathers, who pulled them forward into line and eased their steps through the turnstile. Others were carried by loudly-sighing mothers whose grins belied complaints and whose eyes reflected the enthusiasm of their little sons and daughters; this was a long-awaited day. Smiles were radiant, and everyone breathed deeply at the welcome scent of caramel corn and cotton candy.

“Ticket please,” came the voice of a superbly polished gentleman in a top hat, and he favored the lovely lady with a well-worn, yet skillful smile. She handed over her ticket as the little boy, copying her movements, held his own fist high.

“Two then, Ma’am?” asked the ticket man.
“Well, actually, no. I’m coming in alone.” She brushed the fist from her long silk skirt, and the child fell back, his eyes wide open and confused.
“He can’t come in alone, Ma’am, although--who gave him the ticket?”
“Well, I gave him the ticket…but that was all a mistake. I can’t very well have him following me about in this busy confusion, can I? It would be dreadfully wearying, so very tiring for one so small; it wouldn't be fair to him, I'm sure.” She painted her words with an oddly desperate cheerfulness.
“Very well, then,” said the top hat, “I’ll just—and he pulled out a pair of painted shears….”

The child fell back, frozen hunger on his face, as tiny bits of ticket fell and littered the ground around him.

Far ahead, disappearing swiftly into the crowd, the tall beauty bought herself a pink bouquet of cotton candy and consoled herself by watching the man on the flying trapeze.




Our "Carry on Tuesday" prompt was: Life is a ticket to the greatest show on Earth, a quote from Martin H. Fischer.

Overwhelming Statistics.

Having recently been disturbed by the trend to extend the "pro-life" label to all aspects of human life (capital punishment, war, poverty, environmentalism, you-name-it) so that "pro-choice" candidates could claim the moral high ground, I did a little research in the field. One of the most troubling of the articles I read came from a minister, who said we shouldn't "let one issue trump all the others" when we voted, meaning, of course, that we should not let our stand on abortion affect our vote. I feel that the issue itself trumps all the others. :

Americans killed in wars since 1973: 6,830.
At an X for every 100 it would look like this:

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Americans killed by capital punishment from 1973-2004: 983
At an X for every 100 it would look like this:

XXXXXXXXXX

Total Americans killed in all wars from the Revolutionary War on: 1,315, 00.At an X for every 100 it fills six pages of X's.
That's pretty impressive.

Abortions in the U.S. from 1973-2004 : 42,470,000.

At an X for every 100 it fills 188 pages full of X's
How can it NOT trump everything else?

Anyway, I actually printed out all the pages and put them on the wall. It looks like this:

The Green Page is capital punishment, the gray is wars since 1973, the yellow pages represent all Americans ever killed in war, and the white pages are those full of abortions--over 200,000 per page (as each typed X represents 100)

My seniors are making a video of the display for You-Tube. I think it will be called simply X=100.