Traverse City Record-Eagle

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March 31, 2010

Preserve thoughts for her future

By Garret Leiva

Childhood innocence remains a fleeting fine line -- from crayons to eyeliner pencils.

Parents often try to capture childhood in camera megapixels or Internet video postings only a mother could love or sit through. However, random thoughts from the back seat can't be saved to a computer hard drive or CD, but burned into our internal memories.

"Why do women wear makeup?" asked our 8-year-old as she balanced a book and a sock monkey named Zee-Zee on her lap.

Unlike other arbitrary questions to which parents feign answers, this inquiry was based on sun visor mirror reality. It's Sunday morning and we're running late to church. Since I wasn't the one applying eyeliner at 55 mph, I opted to keep my mouth shut and hands on the steering wheel.

Besides, I'm saving the "Better ask your Mom" card for the likes of birds and bees and bras.

It's a tricky question; the kind not placated by "because," "I said so" or Google searches. My wife attempted an earnest answer that didn't come across as hypocritical if she poked out her eye with a mascara brush.

I almost shared that toxic mercuric sulfide was once used to redden lips -- but I bit my tongue.

"Well, I'm not going to wear makeup," said our girl, unencumbered by the thought of pimples or junior high.

As a dad, you wish that cute little voice was tape recorded -- not for posterity sake, but as a binding contract. While our daughter has declared a minivan her first car choice and boys rather silly, neither statement is on the record. She also wrinkles up her nose at kissing, but even a signed affidavit can't stop the eventual grade school lip-lock.

We'll eventually kiss something else goodbye: the no-makeup statement.

While it might cause her to seek parental emancipation, I might record a few random thoughts from our daughter, on say:

- Lower-back tattoos -- even if you can spell "princess."

- Anything affixed or pierced to your belly button, aside from lint.

- A loud, obnoxious, self-centered boy that honks his car's horn when he pulls into your parent's driveway to pick you up for a date.

- A loud, obnoxious, self-centered boy in a car with you.

- Loud, obnoxious, self-centered boys.

- Boys.

There will come a time when innocence inquiries from the back seat turn into teen angst-filled accusations or worse -- stare-out-the-window silence. No more arbitrary questions when you're 15 and know all the answers.

Suddenly, the prospect of driving a minivan seems preposterous and boys not so silly. Perhaps I should get a few of those answers down now -- at least in crayon.

Garret Leiva can be reached at gleiva@record-eagle.com.

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