The Girl in the Box

This is real. All of this happened.

I was trying to explain opposable thumbs to my three-year-old daughter, when it hit me. I was a long way from home. Hadn’t this conversation started out as a “why you should be good” lecture? How had we gone from that, to me explaining why bears can’t use swords?

“You have this thing, honey. A thumb, and no other animal has it. Not even bears.”

She stared back, my reply a bequeathment from God, but the truth is, I was lying. I don’t know if no other animals have thumbs. I just know that everyone I’ve met and everything I’ve read tells me no such thing exists. But what about space aliens?

“Bears can too use swords!” She retorted with fury that threatened to ignite the room.

“No, they can’t.” Being firm is very important when you’re pretending you’re a parent.

“YES THEY CAN!” she shouted.

I did some mental math. I often tell her “Shouting is rude,” so we’ve been practicing “being intrinsically polite,” which is different from “being nice to receive an extra M&M after dinner.” With that said, this shout was my fault. I’d lied and she knew it. So it made sense to yell. Show me someone who doesn’t get upset when lied to, and I’ll show you a toddler who understands why bears can’t hold swords.

“You’re right.” I picked up a paper-towel tube we’d saved for art projects and put it between two fists and tried to wave it like a sword. “I guess they could hold it with two paws and use it this way, right?”

“No! That looks dumb.”

“But that’s my whole point, honey.” Wait. Was it condescending to call her honey? Was I man-splaining, Dad-splaining, or just explaining? What had society done to me?

“Without opposable thumbs,” I continued, hating the way I over-enunciated those words. I was definitely Dad-splaining. “Animals couldn’t wield a sword like humans.”

“They’re scary bears and they’re coming to eat us!” she shrieked with glee.

I shrugged and jumped into the giant U-Haul box she’d begged me to save. It was our safe space for hiding from imaginary bears who aren’t imaginary if you want this girl to like you.

“Oh no! I hear them coming!” I Dadded, really stepping into my role.

She shivered with joy and nestled her head into my body, worming against my stomach to reverse-metamorphosize, as if I were a chrysalis designed just for her.

“Your stomach is more fun than Mommy’s,” she said, spittling into my face.

That’s because Mom is hot and I thank God every day for that. F—. That’s so superficial. Wait. It should still be OK to be happy that I’m attracted to my wife, right? Like, how is that patriarchal? Wouldn’t it be worse if I didn’t find her attractive and lied about it? I understand what objectification is, and why and how it’s harmful, but my body tells me it’s attracted to objects. Should I explain the patriarchy to it? Or would that be man-splaining?

“Show me Mr. Bellybutton!” The Girl in the Box demanded, bears be damned.

“Mr. Bellybutton” is really just my bellybutton, but he’s still a pretty big deal for my kiddo, and me, a formerly-fat, still-body-dysmorphia-ed adult who has anxiety about taking his shirt off in public.

Showing my daughter my stomach and adding a voice (that I totally ripped off from Barney) while shaking it to add visible emotions is a really big step for me. Second only to the time I went swimming in the ocean with my son at a packed, public beach in Thailand in front of slender people who reminded me of the kids that made fun of me every day for being fat in ninth grade, 30 years ago.

“Whooo hooo whoo! It’s sooooo good to see you!” Mr. Bellybutton shouts, also unafraid of the bears who seconds ago were sniffing the perimeter of our box, an imminent threat to our survival.

“I love you so much, Mr. Bellybutton!” my daughter replies, hugging me so hard I feel compelled to write “hugging me so hard” even though it’s cliché and goes against everything I learned in my MFA.

I hope the same part of me that hears my thoughts and sometimes cringes and at other times laughs, I hope that part won’t be mad at me for *again* breaking the lessons and rules I once borrowed stiff, unbending Stafford loans to pay for. Only an idiot says, “I’ll trade ten years of debt for impertinence!”

“Mr. Bellybutton?” The Girl in the Box repeats.

Sh—t. I wasn’t listening. I don’t even have my phone out. I guess I can’t blame technology for this. I guess sometimes I just space out, even without a screen. I suck. I wish I could just focus on being in this moment and make my daughter happy. Why am I still selfish? I thought kids make us unselfish?

But I can’t help it. I try so hard to be normal. I wake up and convince myself, every day, that I’ll be normal. I’ll let people cut me off and pretend it doesn’t bug me; I’ll think nice thoughts about mean people; I won’t care when people have dumb opinions that I know are dumb because I used to share them when I was dumber than I am now… Wait! Does that mean I’m dumber now than my future self?

STOP IT, MIKE! You’re judging again! ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged,’ DUH!

But I’m not even Christian! Why do I care what Jesus (supposedly) said? Why don’t they call that “religio-splaining,” or “socialization-splaining”? Like, seriously, we can say we’re the only animals with opposable thumbs, but for all we know there are opposable-thumbed lizards hiding under our soil!

Why do we keep saying we know things for certain when we don’t *really* know?

[Paragraph about black swans, germs, and killing Copernicus even though we was right goes here.]

I don’t know. I just know that I don’t know, and I’m tired of know-it-alls. We’re all just humans with feelings, trying to control them, even though none of us can do that. This explains “why” that person did that thing that upset you. Their emotions compelled them to do it, and they didn’t know how to say “no” to that urge. They weren’t thinking about you. Humans have a hard time saying no to their urges.

And you know what else we have, us humans?

No, Mike. Writing “opposable thumbs” would be cliché, and desperate. It’s much funnier if you answer that with, “bellybuttons.” Now hit send, you big dummy, before you get insecure and change your mind.

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Meet Cesar Cardona, a public speaker taught by Sri Lankan and Tibetan Buddhist monks. Originally an Atheist, after surviving death-like trauma three times after childhood, he decided to investigate other disciplines and fell into Buddhism. He now offers a unique perspective on resilience and mindfulness, inspiring others to embrace growth and strength through life’s challenges. Listen right here.