Girl Belongs to the World

I’ve noticed that whenever you start joking around with a little kid, there is this moment when they realize that they are entering into a new social reality. One second they are coloring or moving an action figure around. Then you make a face or say something goofy and their expression changes. You can observe the brief second when they are surprised at noticing that although we were just doing one thing, we’ve now moved on to something else.

This sometimes happens with adults too. But they often don’t need that transition moment. You’ll be having a sincere conversation with a friend and they’ll make a quip in a deadpan voice without changing the way they are looking at you. This is a sophisticated form of adult humor. When we tease, joke, or make fun of our circumstances, it is interwoven into the fabric of normal social relations.

As a parent, I interact with a lot of children now. And I’ve never seen one able to engage in something approaching this adult form of humor, other than Girl. This had already begun well before she turned three. She’ll be stacking blocks on top of one another or shoving blueberries into her mouth. Then I come growl at her, and she goes into silly mode without missing a beat. Some kids are so unsophisticated that they will make the same face back at you, or start laughing. All of the toddlers I’ve dealt with need to take the aforementioned moment in order to realize that it is now time to start joking. Just as when it is time to take a picture, Girl will seamlessly find the right pose, she responds without hesitation to my playfulness. She’ll make a different face, one that is slightly sillier but not too much, perfectly calibrating her smile in order to invite escalation.

But she can go in the opposite direction too, give an understated smirk, and return to her food. Girl can’t ghost me yet since I’m always there, and so always finds some use for me. I’m an object used to turn on the TV, give her candy, or make her laugh. When I say she can’t eat a candy bar, I am an obstacle to be overcome through both carrots – hugs and snuggles – and sticks in the form of tantrums and solemn declarations of “I don’t want daddy.” There’s not a hint of her being concerned that I might get mad; she knows who has the upper hand in the relationship. But although Girl always has some purpose for me now, I won’t be surprised if she finds more enjoyable sources of entertainment when she gets older, and is able to go days without remembering I exist.