The Great Diego Cooking School Debacle

Picture a little face. The face of a seven-year-old boy. He's looking up at you, and he's asking you, "What are we going to do today, Daddy?" He asks the question with a mixture of intrigue and misgiving. This morning, when Diego asked me the question, as he does on most non-school days, I heard my wife say from the bedroom, "No se lo diga." Spanish. Our code language, and probably the only way we'll get them to learn it, because if they think we're telling secrets on them, they're going to want to understand it.

Really healthy, I know.

"No se lo diga." Don't tell him. My wife's instincts were telling her that if this boy got an answer to his question ("We're going to Central Market for a cooking class.") he would raise all kinds of stink and make my morning a living hell. (I say "my" morning, because Jeanette was headed for the merciful sanctuary of work. I'm "off" for Spring Break this week, so I'm on Daddy Day-care duty.)

"We're going on an adventure!" That's our stock response when we don't want the kids to know where we're taking them. Of course, they've figured this out by now, so he immediately asks me to be more specific about said adventure.

"You'll see, buddy. You'll like it."

It's not until we're pulling into Central Market that I reveal the truth of what's happening. "I don't want to do cooking class! I hate cooking class!"

"You do not hate cooking class," I say, remaining calm, but with beads of sweat already forming. Don't let them smell your fear; it's like blood in the water to them.

"I'm not going!" he said, walking away from me in the parking lot.

"Diego, you get back here NOW. One....TWO..."

Then comes his meltdown. The tears well up and fall. Despite all my efforts at Love and Logic, I become Daddy Monster, the daddy I don't want to be. I issue threats, doing my best to make them reasonable. Jackson, the five year old, is -- and by the way, Jesus, thank you -- calm and not so concerned about cooking class. I think he's figured out that there will be cookies involved, and maybe a lot of them.

My threats are enough to get Diego into the classroom, where the instructors look at me with concerned expressions on their faces. Diego repays my threats of depriving him of his greatest love -- technology -- by refusing to participate in the class, for which we paid a nice little chunk of change, I might add. I watch them from outside the glass, Jackson happily cooking and eating and eating and goofing with the other boys and eating, while Diego sits by himself, coloring. He's not disruptive; he's got an almost eerie peace about him, and inside I'm churning.

I must, of course, enforce my punishment. He is not allowed any technology for the rest of the day. I spend way too much time wondering why the hell I let this stuff get me so angry, and why I can't be the in-control father that I fancy all the fathers around me to be.

But then something occurs to me. Diego is a smart, smart child. He made the choice to take control of his situation, even though he knew the cost would be something dear to him. It must be difficult having your days dictated by someone else all the time. As much as it annoyed me, at the end of the day I kind of have to applaud the kid for standing up for something.

I won't tell him that though, will I? Like fear, they smell empathy, and feed on it voraciously.

Central Market, Then and Now

You should have seen us, the first time Mignon Young and Alice Reedholm brought us to Central Market for lunch. I had no idea where the hell we were; it felt like we were in a supermarket. Why in the hell were my friends from high school taking me and my wife to a supermarket?? For a moment I thought it might be some sort of practical joke. Then I heard Mignon's younger son, Jackson, excitedly ask permission to go to the playground. Before she could answer, he was gone.



Now we were REALLY confused. So wait, we're at a supermarket. In the middle of a city. And there's a playground? What gives? Jeanette and I exchange a look and I consider asking Mignon if she's not a bit worried about letting Jackson run off like that, while we go to order our food at the supermarket. As New Yorkers, we are suspicious, but then we go out back to get the full effect of the picnic area. There are shade trees everywhere, and barefoot children running and cris-crossing, so that you have to dodge them on your way to your table. In the distance there is a small pond with geese and ducks floating around, and a giant live oak tree with children adorning it like Christmas tree ornaments.



The food was delicious, much to my surprise. And sure enough, Jackson found his way to our table, ate some pizza and zoomed off again to climb something somewhere. When we got back to our hotel, Jeanette and I discussed how freaked out we both were. Though it turned out to be a pleasant dining experience, we both found it completely foreign and well, weird, to borrow a phrase.



Today, nearly three years later, Central Market on North Lamar has become a haunt of ours. My friend Seth Levin has a blog ingeniously called "Dadventures in Beantown" in which he features all the cool things he does with his two sons in the Boston area. I would consider submitting this blog as a guest piece -- a "Dadventure in the ATX" -- or something, because we spend many a Saturday or Sunday there, Jeanette doing the shopping for the week, while I sit by the playground reading, emailing and drinking Shiner Bocks, and the boys do what boys do best -- run in merry circles, playing tag with total strangers and defying gravity on playground equipment.

It is now so familiar that I'm convinced my car could find its way there on its own if it had to. (I won't try it, so don't worry.) We are no longer concerned for even a second about letting the boys go and be on their own as we sit and guard our food from the grackles who swoop in at the first opportunity when you turn your head. There's live music on a regular basis, because this is Austin, after all. And there's even a really cool cooking school where Jeanette and I have taken a couple of classes, as have the boys.

If you come and visit us here in Austin, we may very well take you to Central Market, and although you may at first wonder why the hell we're taking you there, give it a chance. You'll understand, and you'll enjoy.