I took Laney to see the Harlem Globetrotters last night, and while we only made it through the first quarter, we still didn't get home until close to 8:30, which meant Laney wasn't asleep until 9:00. Then she woke up super early this morning. She was tired.
For most of us, fatigue leads to crabbiness, foginess, sleepiness. For Laney, it leads to pointlessly inquisitive. So here is a rough summation of our drive:
Laney: What was your favorite part?
Me: When the Generals player was running around in his underwear
Laney: Why did the main guy give the referee the helium filled basketball
Me: Because it was funny
Laney: Why?
Me: Because it floated up to the ceiling
Laney: Why?
Me: Because it was filled with helium
Laney: Why is that funny?
Me: Because it was unexpected.
Laney: What was your favorite part?
Me: I just told you: when the Generals players was running around in his underwear
Laney: Why?
Me: It was funny [in all honesty, that might not be the whole reason why that was my favorite part]
Laney: Why did he hypnotize Scooter?
Me: To cheat
Laney: But how could an umbrella hypnotize you?
Me: It couldn't really - it was just to be funny
Laney: Why?
Me: Ummmm....
Laney: What was your favorite part.
Let me tell you something: trying to explain comedy to a six year old while navigating traffic on Lake Shore Drive is no easy trick. But as ridiculous and circuitous as this conversation was, it came nowhere near approaching the level of inane, balmy, cockeyed REDONKULOUSNESS of what I heard on the radio after dropping Laney off.
See, yesterday, Obama extended hospital visitation rights to partners in same sex couples. This is clearly the decent right thing to do, even if it doesn't go far enough in recognizing the civil rights of gay people. But, whatever. This is a positive step and I'm really glad he did it.
And then I hear the reaction quote from the Family Research Council spokesperson: "In its current political context, President Obama's memorandum clearly constitutes pandering to a radical special-interest group."
What? How? Wha?
And what lesson can we take from this? That even in the deepest stages of sleep deprivation and Globetrotter-inspired flummoxation, my six year old kid makes more sense than the guy who writes the talking points for the Family Research Council.
