I didn't know whether my oldest, Annie, was playing Truth or Dare with me when the thirtysomething sent me a photo of baby Amelia that BEGGED to be shared — along with a command that I don't post it. (That surprised me, especially in the Facebook era, when people post all sorts of private things.)
OR, could it be that Antonia Leigh still has a little of the teen defiance from the Brat Pack era in which she grew up, before even pagers existed?
Speaking of the Brat Pack era, I STILL love "Don't You … Forget About Me."
Back to the topic at hand: Did NO mean YES, in this instance? After all, if Annie posted it, somebody might say, "How DARE you post a nekkid pic of your daughter!" But if I did, the worst that could happen would be somebody clucking and asking what more to expect of a doddering old granddad.
Yup, Annie could have been trying to make me the fall guy, to have me do the dirty work of publishing a photo that might haunt my granddaughter if she ever tried to run for Senate or even president. (That’s assuming, of course, that these ancient Web archives even exist when she’s of an electable age.)
I can just see the news story now: “The wheels fell off of Amelia XXXXX’s campaign applecart today when photos surfaced of her posing nekkid in the tub … ”
Back from the future to the present: I thought Annie had left me some wiggle room, the way she phrased the warning: “This better not get posted on any blogs! But I thought it was cute so I'm sending it!”
I think a guy could read between the words to find the hidden message: “This better not get posted on any blogs (unless YOU want to, Dad)! But I thought it was cute so I'm sending it! (AND, it‘s OK if you want to post it, Daddy Dearest.)”
See, the message was in there, when I squinted.
On the other hand, what if she were serious, but I've still got enough parental p--- and vinegar to embarrass my kids once in awhile, as all parents do? In their youth, they all seemed to think I was pretty embarrassing, even though I didn't try and I don't recall ever picking my nose or farting in front of their classmates. Evidence:
* After I went to a special event at Annie's school when she was in, oh, seventh or eighth grade, she stormed into the house that night, pitched a fit and banned me from wearing my elephant pants in front of her friends ever again. (I was thinking about those pants just the other day; DAMN I miss 'em.)
* When Brendan was in high school, he routinely told me he was playing at baseball field "A" when he actually was playing at field "Z," which was a bazillion miles away from "A," so I would go to the wrong field and wouldn’t have time to get to the real site. Once in awhile, I'd trip him up and get there on time.
I never could figure out why he didn't want me to show up, especially since you'd think he owed me some loyalty for getting him out of bed at 5:30 a.m., trekking through the Minnesota north to the ice rink and putting on his skates from the time he was 6. (Back then, his main gripe was having to get up that early; my gripes were legion, from bundling up dead weight and carrying him through the cold into the car, trying to force ice skates on the floppy feet of a sleeping kid, and then trying to stay warm myself during practice.)
After all, I didn't ever upbraid a ref or an ump or scream, "Brendan Michael Tighe," if he made a slip-up, like my stepmom hollered, "Michael Joseph Tighe," across the field in our small Nebraska town, loud enough to be heard on both coasts, one day when I let a ball scoot twixt my legs at shortstop.
* When Allison was 12 and I would take her to the mall, she insisted that I walk 20 or 30 feet away, or just disappear, so nobody would see that I was with her. Or she was with me, depending on your perspective.
Sooooooooo, if Annie were serious, how could I blunt her anger, if she didn't buy into fact that I've always been a source of embarrassment? Spread it around.
Since this involves nudity, would it be fair, for instance, to recall the time the neighbor across the street called and asked me whether I knew Brendan was running up and down the sidewalk. Nekkid? Well, to tell you the truth, I had to tell her no, that I didn’t know where my son was, but I wished it was dark instead of broad daylight.
He was only 4 then, but I also recall the time, when he was 16 or so, and his sisters burst in on him while he was taking a bath on Christmas Day and shot a picture of him. Even though nothing showed, and it not only wasn't the era of instant gratification but also wasn't these days of Facebook, in which it could be posted worldwide, he was furious.
How mad? Well, as siblings will do, even though Annie had instigated the photo session, he nonetheless joined her in an unholy alliance and proceeded to eavesdrop on a phone conversation Allison was having. This was before cellphone era, right smack dab in the beeper period of antiquity, so they were listening on a phone extension.
When Allison heard them giggling, she blew a gasket, ran into the living room and turned the air of Christmas Day blue, and FROSTY, with a string of invectives that included words I never had heard and didn’t know you could combine.
So, if I revealed all those — how mad could Annie get if I posted the photo of Amelia bathing? It’s soooooooooooo cute.
And, as I mentioned before, there also was the chance Annie actually WANTED me to post the tub photo. After ALL, the rubber ducky was placed strategically.
Until she told me that no, in this case, DEFINITELY meant NO. (Sadly, part of the reason is that, these days, all sorts of unsavory characters are cruising the Web, looking to prey on children’s photos.)
So, I heed her wishes, and you’ll just have to be satisfied with a photo of Amelia playing with Miss Kitty.
P.S.: No rubber duckies were injured in taking the photo of Amelia in the tub, I presume.
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