Have you ever told a tiny little white lie? Is every single one of them wrong? That is an ethical can of worms. Jewish Torah permits the withholding of the truth if it will hurt others. And if we’re honest with ourselves, are we that much different? Those who declare they would never tell a little white lie would think again if their spouse asked them whether a certain dress made them look fat or if we liked the broiled spinach casserole they spent four hours preparing in a smoldering kitchen.
And what of parenting – should we tell our children the truth, every single time, no matter what? To quote Nicholson, YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH! Why doesn’t little Billy from down the street come over to play any more? Would you open up Pandora’s Box and tell your child little Billy has cancer? Why is the sky blue? Why can’t I eat candy for dinner or play WII until I pee myself? What about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy? Should you tell them that imaginary friend is not real, or that their favorite stuffed animal doesn’t really talk to them?
The Dirty Secret
And now the dirty secret – our home has an infestation. There are monsters that hide under beds, inside closets, and underneath dressers. Nap- and bed-time are a chore. I confess that the world of an imaginative three-year old is often far beyond my scope of comprehension. After the 900th trip back after I’ve tucked her in, I forget I’m an alien and stranger trespassing upon a land not my own.
I hear you already, that is an easy one –Monsters aren’t real, right? A brief visit to a 24-hour news channel tells me otherwise. But now we’ve digressed, I doubt my daughter is afraid of Syrian biological weapons. And frankly, utilizing flawless logic or Wikipedia on a three-year old to prove there is nothing under her bed waiting to eat her toes just doesn’t work. Children believe in talking stuffed animals, in magic, and in monsters. We intrude upon their vibrant reality, quoting black and white statistics with unnerving confidence. But is there harm in stepping into their world, of embracing their reality?
The Geek Solution
So with that in mind, I’ll introduce the geek solution and let you judge me accordingly. I have the great privilege of owning an old house. You are correct, that was sarcasm. To ensure that my thirteen-year old daughter and eleven-year old son and 23-year old wife (I plead the Torah on that one) can receive their unlimited stream of Facetime, emails, Dragonvale, chats, and Facebook status updates every fourteen seconds (I am pretty sure that’s how often they check for new updates) I rely on Wireless Technology.
Don’t get too worked up – I’ll explain the nuts and bolts of a Wireless network and Wireless security in the near future, assuming I don’t have another birthday any time soon to sidetrack me from blogging. To cover the entire Geek Mansion, I have a centralized wireless router in the basement and a Wireless Range Extender on the second floor. The two devices adequately cover my home and yard so no Facetime requests go undetected.
After yet another sleepless night last night, and missed nap this afternoon, I just sort of cracked. I’ve had enough of these stupid monsters with their dripping slathering maws and sharp teeth and spiky horns and seven purple eyes. I unplugged our Netgear Wireless Range Extender from the hidden location, and placed it in my daughter’s room in plain view. It now blinks merrily, with its antennas spread wide in the perpetual act of wanting to offer hugs. And between you and me, it takes my SSID (I told you, I’ll cover that soon enough) and extends it throughout my home. But if you ask my three-year-old daughter what that blinky thing is on her wall, it’s a Monster Repellant System. The green and yellow LEDs blink as they utilize intricate Monster Sonar. And the two antennae emit frequencies unheard by non-monster ears. Those frequencies are similar to the song “What Does The Fox Say?” – it causes Monsters to grit their teeth, cover their six ears, and run from the vicinity, all the while sobbing into their Hello Kitty handkerchiefs. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.