What was that sound, Daddy? (the questions of parenthood answered...or not)

Yesterday, my wife and I took our two girls (ages 4 and 6) to their first ever college football game. We got there because the older one (pictured) had won some tickets for doing extra reading at school. So, it was kind of a celebration - a 95-degree-on-metal-seats-and-concrete-steps celebration that lasted a little over a quarter. She was proud, if also soon ready to leave!

Anyway, at some point during the game, her little sister turns to me and asks: What was that sound, Daddy?

Now, just remember we are at a college football game in a stadium full of people (well, it was a Vanderbilt game, so “full” is a stretch, but you get the point). We are literally on the last row of the section looking out over the field. So, myriad sounds swirled from all directions.


Me: Well, baby. I don’t know. What did it sound like?

Z: What was that sound? (ignoring my request for additional detail)

Me: Well, was it the marching band (which was actively playing)?

Z: No.

Me: OK. Was it the cheerleaders chanting?

Z: No. What was it, Daddy? (starting to get frustrated)

Me: Um…was it the man’s voice coming through the scoreboard?

Z: No.

Me: Was it the sound of the players when they hit each other?

Z: No, Daddy. What was that sound? (more frustrated)

Me: Baby, I don’t know. Can you describe it for me?

Z: …

Me: …

Z: Can I have some more pretzel?


And, so it ended. I am not sure if this resolution represents a parenting victory, a failure, or constitutes a complete non-event in some way.

Thinking about it after the fact, I feel like this exchange really captures so much about life as a parent. There are infinite questions. There really aren’t many good answers. And, it’s extremely hard to evaluate how you’re doing when you don’t really know what the hell you’re talking about, what their talking about, or even generally dealing with! It’s a unique sort of cacophony.

It reminded me of the earliest, and often most intense, experiences as a parent: dealing with a sick kid.

You take your infant to the doctor because she projectile vomits her food back onto her plate, then onto the floor, then onto you. She’s very obviously very sick, so we must call the doctor.


Doctor: “It’s probably just a virus.”


Your kid starts going to daycare and all kinds of weird shit starts happening. She’s not sleeping as well, not pooping right, is congested constantly, green stuff oozing from the nose, ears hurt, and she’s generally pissed at the world. She’s miserable. What the hell is going on? We’ve gotta call the doctor.


Doctor: “This happens when they start school. It’s probably just a virus.”


Later, your toddler is suddenly covered with angry, red bumps. They clearly itch and hurt. They seem to be spreading. She must be having some sort of vicious allergic reaction. Or, god forbid, it’s chicken pox or something like that. What is it? We’ve gotta call the doctor.


Doctor: “It’s probably just a virus.”


You get the point. With children, even the doctors don’t usually have very good answers. There’s limited information and often a significant lack of detail. The parents are the ones with infinite questions. We’re the ones who want to know: “what was that sound, Doc?”

Now, let me return to yesterday. And, as I often do when I write about my kids, I’ll pretend I have the opportunity for a do-over, or at least a chance to try again with written words:


Z: What was that sound, Daddy?

Me: It’s probably just a virus.