(Children can indeed drive you crazy)

KIDS

by

Zvi Zaks

Kids! They're enough to drive you crazy.  In the Old World - where you just came from - children obeyed their parents. Here, kids don't care. Life is different in the New World.

Let me give you an example. Last week Diana, my five year old, brought a furry little drakitten inside the dome without telling the babysitter, and then forgot about it. If I've told her once, I've told her ten to the third times to return native pets to their lairs. After three hours indoors and without bright sunlight, the kitten metamorphosed, as one might expect, into a fire-breathing dragonette. When I came home, it hissed and nearly burned my foot off.

So I yelled at her, which was a mistake because she's such a fearful child. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she cried and her eyes watered faster than those of an octopod's foal. Then I, the person with singed toes, had to console her. Afterwards my stomach burned more than my feet.

Hey, do you want another brew? The welcoming committee pays for it, and you have another hour till your meeting with the immigration office anyway.

Another example -- you never know when kids here on Dracon are lying. Last week, Harold, my ten year old, complained that his teacher hit him. Now, Eeoop Fa is an honest educator who doesn't lie and doesn't hit human children. Not once have I heard her repeat the Arcturan saw, "Break the bones and build the child," nor does she spout how feeding children mishga will strengthen them.

What's mishga? Didn't they cover that in your absorption seminars? Mishga is an Arcturan vitamin distilled from the metabolic efflux of grazing octopods. Why so many Arcturans try to push it on us I'll never understand, but Eeoop, at least, has never tried to promote it to me.

Still, she is an Arcturan, and Arcturans often hit their offspring and break their 'bones'. Possibly she did forget that human bones take six weeks, not six hours, to heal. Perhaps she had let her middle tentacles fly.

So I checked Harold's pudgy body. He had no bruises. Without evidence I couldn't file a complaint, but I couldn't bawl him out either. All I could do was pour a brandywine and sit in front of a stupid game show on the tri-D.

Listen, those red tube-like things with green splotches are called sponge stalks. They're delicious. They taste a little like Earth peanuts. Try one.

The older kids are the ones who cause the most worries. Little genetic progeny, little problems: big genetic progeny, big problems, as they say in the Old World. A half a year ago, my oldest boy, Danny, just starting high school, told me he wanted to try out for skrimshin.

I hit the top of the dome. Danny is a huge, muscular boy, taller than I am, but still a human child. "Are you out of your mind? Skrimshin is no game for humans!"

"Sure it is, Dad. Our home team, Fiiaaps, has a human skrimmer, Mario Rodriguez."

"I hear he's gotten banged up pretty bad, too. Skrimshin is too dangerous for people, uh, humans. A flying skrim stuns an Arcturan but it can kill us."

"The armor will protect me, Dad."

"And what will the armor do when 400 pounds of Arcturan blubber falls on you?"

"They aren't allowed to pile up on humans. The game just isn't that dangerous."

"Not to an Arcturan, but what do they know? 'Break the bones and build the child.'"

Danny smiled. "On Earth they say 'Spare the rod and spoil the child.' What's the difference?"

"Why not play baseball or football?"

"Nobody plays baseball or football except humans. Humans don't count."

I exploded. "Who says they don't -- we don't count. Aren't we and the Arcturans partners, exploiting, that is, exploring Dracon IV together? Why all of a sudden is only what the Arcturans do important?"

"Dad, you don't understand," he said. That was his usual answer when I tried to tell him something. It was like talking to a Draconian biped -- words, but no understanding.

The morning after Danny's announcement was a beautiful day - the two suns shining and winglizards chirping merrily in the lushly purple trees. I went to the coach, an affable athlete named Paaoo.

"Skrimshin is a beautiful game, Mr. Robbins," he said in a rich baritone, his upper tentacles slithering up and down my forearm while we watched the team work out. I'm not afraid of snakes, but those tentacles made me grimace. "Nothing shines like a skrim, glistening in the Draconian suns as it flies from being to being on its way to the shin. It's even more beautiful here on Dracon Four than on our home planet," and he emitted some clicks and whistles that I will never be able to understand, let alone repeat, "what you call Arcturus Three."

"It is beautiful, Ca Paaoo, but it's a dangerous game for humans. The skrim may be small, but it's heavy enough to shatter human bones like dry spaghetti, and we don't heal as quickly as you do."

He laughed and moved the cold tentacles from my arm to my shoulder and around my chest. I shuddered. "Back home we have a saying, 'Break the bones and build the child.' You worry too much. Give him a little mishga and he'll be fine."

"But coach, why do you want a human child on the team? Danny isn't nearly as strong as an Arcturan youngster. It's an effort for him even to carry the skrim."

"Danny is quick and tireless. Humans don't give out as quickly as do Arcturans. Mario Rodriguez is one of the best players on Fiiaaps."

I sighed, thanked him for his time, and left. Progress I was not making. Why didn't Danny want to play baseball or even football instead of running onto a huge grassy circle with a group of half ton octopuses, excuse the expression, I don't want you to think I'm prejudiced?

What should I have done? Had I simply forbidden him to play, I would have stimulated rebellion, made skrimshin an overriding goal. I figured, on a scrub team he couldn't hurt himself too badly. Next year, after collecting his share of bruises, he would be more reasonable. So I let him join.

To tell the truth, for the past four years, ever since their mother, Sarah, died on this God forsaken world - forgive me, you're a newbie and I shouldn't speak of your new home that way - but it's been difficult for me to refuse the kids anything.

Next week I watched a skrimshin game on the tri-D. As the coach said, it's a beautiful game. Members of the Fiiaaps, their motile tentacles writhing on the purple grass, slid onto the round field. An opposing Arcturan whirled the skrim in a 15 foot circle above its head - actually, above its top - while its teammates formed a line leading to the shin. Suddenly a Fiiaap flipped its hurling tentacle, intercepted the skrim and passed it to a teammate, who then whirled it in a new circle while the Fiiaaps formed an unbreakable line to their shin. Soon the glistening jewel was arcing 30 feet from one player to another a quarter of the way down the field. It was a good play, drawing a loud mixture of cheering Arcturan clicks and human shouts, from the fans in the stadium and even a little whoop from me.

The opposing team called a time out, during which Mario Rodriguez jogged onto the field. After a few minutes of maneuvering, an Arcturan passed him the skrim and he ran like a football player, dodging Arcturan bodies and tentacles almost a full third of the way down the field, until suddenly a tentacle tip whacked his lower leg, knocking him down. Technically it was a good play, but the clumsy jerkiness of the skrim in his hands paled in comparison to the graceful curves traced by the Arcturans.

Danny sat down next to me. He pushed back a lock of unruly blond hair and said, "That's what I want to do when I grow up!"

I turned to look at him.

The announcer's excited voice broke in. "Mario has a broken leg. He's out of the game...''

"You want that also?" I asked.

Danny was unimpressed. "It'll heal. Besides, he was careless."

"The man is supposed to be the greatest human skrimmer alive. Do you think you can do better?"

The eyes went up. "Oh Dad, you don't understand."

One of the Fiiaaps suddenly hurled the skrim into the bull's-eye ring of the multitiered shin, which exploded into light and discordant alien music. The crowd went wild. I didn't cheer. Muttering angrily, I turned off the tri-D and walked away. Danny turned it back on.

The next week Danny began training. At breakfast the first morning I found him drinking a glass of mishga.

"How can you stand that stuff?" I asked him. "The smell is terrible."

He shrugged. "You get used to it. It's no worse than your vitamins."

My boss in the meteorology lab, another human, was so excited to hear of a human kid going out for skrimshin he gave me an afternoon off to watch Danny's first practice. The kids were doing calisthenics. Then the coach made them do a scrimmage. Danny performed well, dodging tentacles and often catching the skrim, though several times he got hit, and a few times he tripped. That evening, when he undressed for bed, I saw he was black and blue.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" I asked, almost wringing my hands.

"Don't worry Dad. I'm just a little out of shape. Lots of people get banged up on the first day."

"Don't worry," he says. What does he know about a parent's worries? Only another parent, like my brother Carl, would understand. As it happened, that night Carl called. His wife and daughter had gone to a women's night (actually females' night -- I will never see Arcturan females as women) at the Species Friendship Center so he invited himself over for dinner. He's always welcome. My brother is the type of guy who, when he invites himself for dinner, brings the dinner -- in this case burgers and fries.

No, not beef burgers like you're used to on Earth, and the fries are from sea tubers, not from Old World potatoes, but they're still tasty.

Carl had scarcely walked in the door when Danny grabbed him in a wrestling hold. Just a few years ago, Carl could easily pin Danny to the ground; this time, after some grunts and the sound of bodies hitting the floor, Danny won. Then Harold explained to Carl the details of his latest school project, after which Diana got a horsy ride.

"You're a good uncle," I said.

"They're good kids, Alan," he said, still breathing heavily.

After dinner, Dracon alpha was just setting. The valley was still warm so I shooed the kids outside to play, then poured a brew for Carl and me, and sat down to talk.

"I have to tell you, I'm worried about Danny," I said and explained about Skrimshin.

"I'm sure the school wouldn't allow it if it weren't safe," he said.

"Are you kidding? Sports injuries happen all the time. He's already gotten a ton of bruises."

"He doesn't look bruised to me. Is he taking mishga? It's supposed to heal injuries."

"How can Arcturan biochemicals help humans? They're aliens."

He shrugged. "The theory is that all sentient beings must have the same chemistry because no metabolism other than ours can produce self awareness. So Arcturan medicines should work on us."

"Theory is the right word. Where is the proof? Have you ever heard of a human actually being cured by this mishga?"

"Part of the theory must be accurate. We and the Arcturans can eat the same food."

"If you can stomach it, but have you ever heard of a human being cured by mishga?"

"Wasn't there a human skrimmer who broke a leg a few weeks ago? I heard they gave him mishga and he got back on his feet in just a few days."

"Old Schwartz was injured bad enough to die last year. Mishga didn't help him."

Carl frowned. "His hovercraft crashed. You can't compare that to a skrimshin injury."

"They didn't give Sarah mishga." My voice was rising.

"Sarah wasn't injured. She caught lung spore disease before we knew about sleeping in pressurized domes. No one says mishga helps infections."

"God damned octopuses. They didn't give it to Sarah."

"Because it wouldn't have done her any good."

"Then why would it do Danny any good?" By now I was shouting.

"Oh, Alan." Carl gave me a look like I was deaf or retarded or both. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Tell me…" He paused. "Who will you vote for in next month's elections?"

As the weeks went by, Danny's bruises lessened. I have to admit that Harold, a real butterball, was so impressed by his brother being on the team that he started to slim down and exercise himself. Also, timid little Diana seemed to gain confidence from Danny's athletic status. Even so, my anxiety about Danny continued. I wanted to pull him off the team, but he was so enthusiastic I couldn't do it.

After much eager anticipation on Danny's part, the first game arrived. I and all three parents of each Arcturan player were there, but none of Danny's human classmates. I saw the parents of a human child on the opposing team and dearly wanted to talk to them, but they stood on the other side of the field and etiquette forbade my crossing over.

The game went smoothly. The kids didn't throw the graceful arcs of the professionals, but they played enthusiastically and had fun. After a few minutes even I could cheer when Danny carried the skrim. His team won one to nothing, which left him ecstatic. "Boy Dad, did you see how I intercepted that pass? And how did you like my dodging?" I swallowed and refrained from mentioning that he was limping on his left leg.

Each week was a practice and another game. Danny was always on time and often practiced at home. Once I caught him trying to whirl a skrim around his head like Arcturans do. Embarrassed, I closed the door quietly so he wouldn't think I was spying on him.

Danny's team made it to the playoffs, to my dismay because he'd be playing that much longer. I started to talk about how skrimshin "has been a good experience, something everyone should do for a season."

"Oh, I'm not going to stop with one season," he said, downing a glass of mishga and then dashing out to play with one of his Arcturan friends. Its tentacles were around -- of all places -- his neck, while his fingers held its sensor tentacle. That was another thing; lately he never played with human friends. What was wrong with that boy? Didn't he appreciate the Terran heritage I had given him? Was he trying to be an Arcturan? Would he want to date Arcturans later on? What under the Draconian suns was happening?

Finally came the last contest of the season, the championship game. The whole class came to cheer on the team, even the human classmates, including one girl, a petite brunette, whom I had noticed watching Danny at other games. I caught Danny sneaking frequent glances at her which reassured me at least about his mating instincts.

Danny's team, the Skrimmers, won the pull for the first skrim. He had chosen the team's name and had talked the other players into accepting it, which impressed me since the name was not one derived from the Arcturan language. My boy apparently is a politician. You watch - he'll be on the Terran council in a handful of years.

Danny started out on the bench, but I knew he wouldn't stay there. Sure enough, after only ten minutes the coach sent him in. At first I would gnaw my lip till it bled when he entered the field, but now, for the last game, I put aside my worries till next season.

An opposing Arcturan whirled the skrim around its top and passed it down the line. Danny then foolishly jumped in between two Arcturans and intercepted the skrim. The crowd loved it, but I wanted to wring his neck for making such a dangerous move. Clutching the skrim, he ran madly down the field to the shin and, accompanied by the screams of his ecstatic classmates, hurled the skrim into the shin just as two other players swung their tentacles and hit him from opposite directions. He fell and my heart fell with him because he didn't get up. In fact he didn't even move!

A crowd gathers and I'm the first one there. His right leg and arm are at crazy angles, obviously broken. A siren wails and he and I are in an ambulance speeding to the hospital, him moaning Dad it hurts I can't breathe Dad are you there, and me saying it's all right Danny I'm right here you'll be fine, all the while forcing my voice to be calm so he won't hear my terror and be more afraid himself.

Finally we reached the hospital where nurses wheeled him into the operating room. The colony had no human surgeon, but an Arcturan physician assured me that she had studied human medicine intensively, and that her tentacles were more agile than human fingers. Watching her tendrils tie themselves into and out of complex knots, I grudgingly agreed.

Forty-five minutes I paced the floor until the doctor came out. I ran to him. "Doc! Is he okay?"

"You were really worried, weren't you?" she laughed, curling one tentacle around my arm and another around my waist. "It's all right. Young ones like that can take a lot of punishment. Remember, break the bones and build the child. We put in a few stitches and gave him some mishga, and he's much better."

That night I slept fitfully. I must have had kidneys in my head instead of brains to have agreed to this sport in the first place. Early next morning I called the hospital; the nurse, a human, said only that he was doing "as well as can be expected." Ignoring Harold's protests that he didn't need a babysitter, I took him and Diana to Carl's dome. Then, my hovercraft's whine dangerously loud, I rushed to the hospital, all the while gnawing my fingernails.

The pretty brunette girl from Danny's class stood next to me on the hospital transport belt to Danny's ward. "Will Danny be all right, Mr. Robbins?" she asked, her voice tremulous.

"Sure thing," I answered, looking up. "The nurse says he's fine."

"They shouldn't let him play, Mr. Robbins. Skrimshin is too dangerous for human kids."

She's a smart kid. Cute, too.

We found him in bed -- arms, legs, and chest wrapped in hard white casts and not moving. I froze, expecting the worst, but the girl walked over to the bed and woke him. Then I could breathe.

He looked around, not sure at first what had happened, then quietly asked when the nurse would bring breakfast. Even with the casts and mumbled speech he looked better than I had feared. My muscles unwound. The intravenous line had a brownish tinge -- mishga obviously. Maybe that crazy bullshit did some good after all.

After breakfast he glanced at the girl, and then looked hesitantly at me. "Dad, will I be able to try out for the intermediate team next year?"

I suppressed a laugh. "I'm sorry, Danny. It really wouldn't be a good idea. You got banged up pretty bad as is."

At that point the doctor came in along with Danny's coach, both of them clicking and whistling away in Arcturan. I never could understand that language, though Danny and Harold had picked up a fair amount of it and Diana, who was born here, spoke it fluently. As they approached us they switched to English, as was their custom near humans so as not to arouse human paranoia.

"Of course I'm sure," said the doctor. "I've been treating injuries like this for 20 orbits. The boy is fine. He had a couple of minor injuries, and was never in any danger of death or disability."

"I'm not questioning your competence," said the coach. "I just want to be certain. The boy's father, you know, is very worried."

"The boy's father is a worrywart." As she said this, the doctor lifted a middle tentacle and, to my horror, gave a flick here and there and here and there, shattering Danny's cast into fifty fragments. I wanted to kill her! "Young human, let's see you walk."

I could scarcely believe what happened next. With the girl holding his arm, Danny got out of bed and stood on the floor. "Be careful," I shouted.

"It's okay, dad," he said and, just a little unsteady, took a few steps.

I was speechless. People who know me say that isn't possible, but in fact I couldn't think of a word to say. I just stared at my son who was walking around the room as if he had suffered nothing more than a jarring tumble.

What had happened to those fractures? Could those broken bones have healed overnight? Could it be that the Arcturans were right, that mishga actually did promote healing? For the past four years I had been blaming the Arcturans for Sarah's death. Had I, in my resentment, blinded myself to reality? Had I truly been that stupid?

The doctor said, "Danny, you can return to school in two days, and can play scrimmages in another two weeks, if your father will let you. Nothing personal, Mr. Robbins," the doctor continued, again with the tentacles around my shoulder and waist. "But you humans worry too much." I sighed. At least the damn tentacles weren't slimy.

"Danny," the coach said, "an agent was at that playoff game. He said if you continue playing skrimshin that way he can guarantee you a scholarship to college."

What could I say? Danny was so happy he jumped two feet into the air - IV line and all.

Kids! They can drive you crazy.

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Revised 1/04