Antonio Prata: Slime in the airfryer – 07/22/2023 – Antonio Prata

There are times in parenthood when it’s no use going to a pediatrician or a psychopedagogue, it’s useless to read “French children don’t play tricks” or the entire bibliography of the Tavistock clinic: what you need is a good lawyer.

Calm. My intention is not to sue the youngest, whose talent for sports made him throw my cell phone, like an Olympic disk, in the middle of the Ibirapuera lake. Nor do I seek compensation from the daughter who, inclined towards science, decided to test the empirical method by cooking half a kilo of slime in the airfryer. Although both deserved a lawsuit, the jurist is (for now) just to help me in their fights.

Here’s the case. My eight-year-old son takes the iPad and starts working on his underwater castle in Minecraft. My ten-year-old daughter comes into the room and says “I want the iPad too!” My son argues that she used the iPad the entire last night. Today it’s his turn. Sounds sensible. The prosecution, however, presents its case more specifically: “I used it all night because he didn’t ask me to. If he had asked, I would have proposed half an hour each.” According to the argument, which seems logical to me, as she is asking today, he should accept half an hour each.

Who’s right? If we think from an iPad usability point of view, my son is right. In order to maintain isonomy, ie, the same law for everyone, a whole night for her, yesterday, now a whole night for him sounds right. If we think, however, from the point of view of desires, the thing changes its tone. Yesterday she just wanted to use the iPad and he was content watching Lego Ninja Go on TV. Today the two want to use the iPad. That is: yesterday no one was frustrated. Today I will frustrate you if we don’t rotate.

The abstraction she proposes to me is quite complex. Tell me: he had the right to use the iPad yesterday and he didn’t enjoy it. I have the right to use the iPad today and I want to enjoy it. My son argues that he didn’t know that if he wanted to use the iPad every half hour yesterday, he had the right. She replies: she didn’t know why she didn’t ask to use it.

Undoubtedly, these are issues that go beyond –or should we say, infrapolate?– the Civil and Penal Codes, entering the complex area of ​​the philosophy of law. Feeling like a complete ignoramus, I think about leaving with a very 80’s attitude: “nobody is going to use the iPad or watch TV! Enough! That’s it! Go play with play dough! And away from the airfryer!”

I realize, however, that this truculence is completely out of purpose, reason and time. Nothing is more wrong in education than meaningless rules. I need to buy time. I escape to the bathroom. I lock the door. I call my friend Beto, a lawyer.

Beto is one of the most brilliant people I know. He’s dealt with murderers, corrupt people, bankruptcies, mergers, acquisitions and – worst – divorces. I whisper into the phone: “Beto, can you talk?” “He sends!”. Outside, my children knock on the door: “I want the iPad!” “But it’s my day!” I explain the situation. He reflects for a moment. “From a legal point of view, if she had the iPad for one night, he must have the iPad for one night. Only starting tomorrow should the rotation of half an hour each begin”.

I leave the safe bathroom and give the verdict. The two accept. I feel like a good, fair, contemporary father. My daughter sits in the armchair in front of the TV. My son gets in trouble: “I want to sit in the armchair!”. My daughter retorts: “he stayed in the armchair all night!” I confiscate the iPad, turn off the TV. I send them to play with play dough. And anyone who isn’t happy should call Beto and sue me.

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