The Art Of Children And Debate
It’s tough for me not to air the dirty laundry. Oh, fuck, have I gotten myself into trouble in the past because I’d, for whatever reason, decided it was a bold move to chuck the wise path and go for shock value of something, instead, and it often involved things best left in my mind and off my tongue – or my typing fingers. I just erased a paragraph in progress relating to a young family member who’d been with us for an extended visit until his return home, yesterday. The boy loves to argue. He adores machine-gunning questions at you, as well, but – as I pointed out to him – he’s so infatuated with questions that he forgets to allow anyone an opportunity to reply, so I don’t know how he’s able to pick up anything, and, indeed, he doesn’t. Or he’s too busy planning an argument against what you’ve got to say to even partially appreciate what you’ve got to say. Infuriating, annoying… He’s a kid, though, and you’ve gotta give a kid some leeway due to the fact that they go through phases both positive and negative and are very performative, so, yeah, he’s picked up little mannerisms from wherever and whomever and is- He’s performing. Performing an act. It’s what kids do. Who of us was any different? Still, he was a bit “extra”, this time around, and- He’s on a flight home, accompanied by his grandfather while here, it’s peaceful. Much as it was after one of my visits to a relative’s home when I was a child and I’d departed, most definitely. I mean, I was a handful and, in response, often got a hand across my mouth. We don’t do such things, nowadays. I think it’s gotten somewhat confusing – especially for those of us without children of our own and thus we lack a certain patience with them – when faced with having to- I dunno. “Put a kid in his or her place?” I don’t like the way that sounds. We struggle with how to correct them, anyway. I don’t know how to deal with a kid. Sometimes, an interaction goes south because I lack the finesse it takes to speak with a child. “I feel bullied,” he’d confided forlornly after being rebuked. I get it. I tend to turn interaction into an opportunity for a joke or something to the effect and maybe it seems fun for me and maybe other adults in the room who should, as is true of myself, lean more into the act of being the adults in the room, rather than sinking to the level of picking on a kid for shits and giggles, even if the little shit deserves being knocked. It’s heartbreaking, really, in thinking on it. But, before you can get your words out, he’s started an argument with you and- It’s irritating as fuck, because – as he kid – he knows little of the world, yet wants to believe he knows more about it than you do and, confusing opinion with fact, convinces himself of it and you’re suddenly in verbal fisticuffs with, like, a ten-year-old. Ten, eleven; I forget. Shrug. At my age, birthdays and ages of folks escape me. It takes me a moment to suss out how old I am on demand; I can’t be expected to know his age nor yours or that person’s, over there. Anyway, all of this is more a critique on my behavior than his. I don’t wanna drag the boy, just make commentary on him and think about that, about what it is I’m commenting on. Though a takeaway from the visit is a great bugaboo for me and that’s the act of debate. Young people love them some debate, these days, it seems, but they’re so enamored with the arguing that they forget the argument. As an adult, the easy reaction is to be dismissive of whomever’s bringing this shit into the valley. It’s not on the kid, though, but on society and what it’s become by the facets of it. Young folks adore a debate, love to debate, debate you on anything and everything and nothing at all. Unfortunately, they sometimes are so infatuated with it that all that comes to matter to them is “winning” when the purpose of a debate isn’t to “win” but to influence another party on the topic at hand by establishing, beyond a reasonable doubt, that your presentation is not only factual but more likely true than that of the opposing viewpoint. I’ve found myself arguing with younger folks, online, about some issue or another and- Their technique is to hammer you with enough bullshit that you hopefully just shut up and leave, at which point they feel they’ve “won” by default, though they’d countered factual points with empty arguments and endless assertions that your points need more proof to convince them of their validity and more proof and, when that’s not enough, they accuse you of failing or refusing to prove anything to them, regardless of how much evidence you’ve provided. This refusal has become part of the paradigm of debate for them, while – for the rest of us – it’s infuriating and, when faced with it, we know it’s gonna end as it always does. It was part of Charlie Kirk’s method of winning arguments, this. He’d seek out the unprepared and wreck them with this. It was refreshing to view his debate with British students at- Cambridge, was it? These fuckers were sharp and ready to do battle with a depth of knowledge a university-level British education provides. Kirk showed up with his smug attitude and thought he could bullshit his way through it as is normal for him and soon found out he was sorely out of his league. But, as people like him do, these days, he excused the event away and simply continued business as usual.
When I was in school, there was parliamentary procedure competitions through our local FFA with teams from other high schools, providing students with a proper argumentative rule. There are no rules, anymore. It’s a fucking free-for-all, the biggest bully standing at the end being declared the “winner”. Did I partake in parliamentary procedure? I didn’t. I’m a stutterer and a stammerer. It’s why I’ve slipped toward the written word. I’m horrid at a podium, even worse in verbal battle. By today’s standards, stuttering and stammering itself is grounds for a loss. To be fair, one’s presentation and the ability to work a room was important back in the day, as well, so… I dunno. I’ve gotten into some vicious online arguments with fellow keyboard warriors and, even if I felt I held my own, I thereafter decided to lie low, even switching the particular social media platform to an other-than-public setting. I really loathe argument for the sake of arguing. When my great-nephew did it, I could feel the steam coming out of my ears, I could hear it whistling, feel the hotness in my cheeks and my brow furrow. Rather than just walk away, though, I found myself debating a little kid. It’s hilarious in the worst way, thinking on it. It’s always best to be choosy of the hill you decide to battle on. You don’t wanna die, there.
Maybe, if and when the boy returns, I’ll have found a way by then to encounter him in a manner befitting my adulthood and, hopefully, be able to impart some wisdom unto him instead of sinking into a desire to make fun of him and the event. That “impart some wisdom” bit made me laugh at myself because I’m a stupid motherfucker and have nothing like that kind of thing at my disposal to share.
At 58, I’ve long-settled into the acceptance that marriage and child-rearing aren’t for me. “It’s never too late,” a friend told me, once, but – yes – it is too late, and I want neither, anyway, because I feel I wouldn’t be good at either institution. I’m simply not wired for ‘em. I think that’s okay, as “okay” as it is for anyone who’s decided a bachelor/bachelorette life, sans children. Sometimes, such people make excellent aunts and uncles. I don’t believe I’ve a very good uncle. There are a lot of reasons for this and, yeah, my feelings on it are mixed. It does make me sad that I might not have enough “fun uncle” vibes to lay on my nephews and nieces, and, anyway, I’m not always the warmest sort to ‘em. I try. For them. Just not enough. Time was, I didn’t try at all. I’ve at least made a smidge of some kind of progress, I suppose. A smidge. It’s not enough.
