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Christening, or Look At The Baby

posted by Carl Newman at 12:04 pm.

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I went on vacation for a week with my family, and the day we came back was my second cousin’s christening and I know what you’re thinking: “Who cares?”

I’ll tell who doesn’t. The kid.

My cousin Trisha is the first in my generation of the family to have a kid, and since I’m twenty years older then little Abby, I’m “uncle Carl,” even though we’re really second cousins, but I think everyone has fake uncles, and in fact, studies show fake uncles are important in the development of a child. (Fake studies).

For my secular friends, the act of christening a child is like this: everybody gets into a church, you put the kid in a white dress (the root of cross dressing for men), and a stranger in robe wipes water on the kid’s head while my mother and aunt cry a little.

They’re cryers, and I swear it’s genetic. I’ve got a rough, tear-filled road ahead.

Now, if you’ve read my blog before, or met me, or stood within hearing distance of me; you’re well aware of the fact that I’m a snide, foul-mouthed, sarcastic bastard with a history of intellectual elitism. But put me in twenty yards of a baby and I’m just a big ol’ softy. Kryptonite comes to mind.

I mentioned this to one of my cousins, and said that my dad was pretty much the same way (not the mean things, just the fascinated with babies part). She responded that a lot of intellectual men are that way. Which I think is true. I mean, it’s a little person. They’re not done yet. They have a little brain and they don’t know how to use it and there’s nothing in it yet. It’s sort of like looking at a construction site. But prettier.

I brought this up with my girlfriend (is it weird that I’m talking about you on my blog, honey? Babycakes? Eskimo Pie?), she said that she thinks it’s really weird to think about babies as little people, and that parents are therefore, factories for making little people. Not that we’re looking to start production or anything, but it is strange to think about.

She described bringing a baby home for the first time as: “OK, now don’t kill it.”

Back to the christening, even as a moderately religious individual, I don’t really put a lot of stock in this particular ritual, but there is a certain meaning to it. Because a big part of the service is the affirmation of the congregation (flooded with my family) that we’re all sort of a little responsible for the kid in that “it-takes-a-village” kind of way. It’s a collective, “We better not fuck this kid up.”

Of course, I’m probably not the best example for little Abby. But I’m planning on introducing her to punk rock when she’s 13.

Carl Newman: appreciates when you don't feel like commenting, but still want to tell him what an asshole he is at warriorpoetresponds@gmail.com