To Drive or Not to Drive, That is the Question
On Friday, Sam was especially excited about going to hockey practice because he’d persuaded his friend’s dad to give us a ride.
This is a bit of an issue in our family. One of the reasons I moved to Europe is the ubiquitous culture of the automobile, and one of the reasons I like living here is that the public transportation is pretty good. My wife and I argued for a long time over whether we needed a car or not and then she just went ahead and got one. I was not happy with that, but it has proved useful on occasion and she loves it, so I just shut up.
In any event, Sam was jazzed. Also, I must admit that the trip by tram and then bus and then about a 10 minute walk because for some reason, the two gyms where they have football practice are somewhere to the northeast of inconveniently located is, in this European socialist public transportation paradise, a pain in the butt.
So, we got to where we were going in about 15 minutes instead of the hour that it takes. On the way, the kids and Martin’s dad are talking, in Czech. I sort of stopped paying attention after awhile. There was a song on the radio which also elicited mixed emotions in me. On the one hand, I thought it was a great song. (I’m sure I’ve heard it before, but I don’t know the name or artist and don’t care that much. I’m not writing for a music magazine here) A high-pitched, sweet, Shirley Templish female voice (which sends shivers down my spine) singing “Fuck you, fuck you very, very much.” At first, I thought I’d misheard. Surely, she must be singing Thank you very much and in the same way that many viewers misheard Dr. McCoy when he said “Get your Vulcan hands off me!,” I had just misheard this. But no. That was the chorus and it was frequently repeated.
So, kind of a cool song and if I’d heard it in a bar I would have thought it was great, but we had 7 year olds in the back seat. Of course, nobody but me was paying a damned bit of attention to the lyrics and Sam’s the only one who could possibly have understood them anyway. The irony is that I want him to pay more attention to stuff that’s in English. He definitely prefers speaking in Czech and his little sister is worse.
I’m not writing in favor of censorship. It’s just something that threw me for a loop as a parent but which I’m going to have to deal with sooner or later. There are kids today whose 1st word is fuck.
Kind of like the car thing. As much as I don’t like them, they are a big and unavoidable part of our lives.
So, we were going along well, and I was feeling a bit envious since Martin’s dad was obviously, to the kids, the cooler dad, when we got there and he had to find a parking spot.
And, oh, I’m so fucking glad I don’t drive.
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