No – I didn’t have one.
God forbid. I hate babies. “Hate” may be the wrong word. I hold no real animosity against babies themselves. They didn’t choose to be babies. Mostly it’s the parents I hate. And the cult of parenthood. Oof. But babies, children, mostly I feel sorry for them. They all seem a little confused and angry and sad on the inside, and hysterical on the outside. The other day my cat ran into a little girl in the hallway of my apartment building. They were both bewildered. I like putting animals and babies together. It’s miraculous. The little two legged beasts turn into angels, the absolute personification of the sublime, and the little four legged beasts turn into saints, nobly tolerating the demands and abuse of the two legged beasts because that is why they were put in this earth. Like star-crossed lovers, they eventually had to be torn apart and returned to their proper families. Oscar actually seemed somewhat terrified and disoriented when we got back inside. He’s not used to children. I can’t even verify that he’s ever been handled by one before. I tried to explain to him what children were. “Like, half space alien, half pet,” I told him. Keep in mind I treat pets like children, so I’m not advocating giving kids as presents or locking them in the garage. I just mean, they are small and needy and silly and it makes us feel good to care for them. Yet they grow in us and often need to be cut out of our stomachs, they make up their own languages and can’t really be trusted. And have big eyes and small bodies. Like aliens. Oscar looked at me like I was the alien and sat down in front of the tv to watch a documentary on the Spanish Inquisition.
Anyway, baby pictures! Care of FP Passport:
Aw… Normally when I’m shown pictures of people’s children I have to lie and pretend like I care and then I punish them by showing them photos of my cat which instead makes them pity me for some reason and frankly it’s not right because I think I’ve got the better deal. But you have to admit, this is a cute kid! Those eyes! My mother warned me of Russian boys before I got on the plane to Moscow. Then she repeatedly sent letters repeating those warnings. Specifically, she warned of “puckish” Russian boys with their “impish” eyes. Looks like they’re born with them… Also, Medvedev’s mother (far right) is beautiful too.
Once a nature boy, always a nature boy… I suppose the only real surprise should be that he manages to put on a shirt for formal occasions. Truthfully, though, he seems a bit cold. Well, it doesn’t look like he had the same picture-perfect happy childhood as his protege. Life in Post-War Russia must have been rather hard. Compared to all of the cheezy, goofy, nary-a-care-in-the-world childhood pictures of my family (and all others I’ve seen) in mid-1950’s America, this looks downright tragic. Could be right out of a Dovzhenko still taken decades earlier. Or one of those late-nite Feed the Children PSA’s. No wonder we were afraid of Communism.
And no wonder they were afraid of us…