If my son inherits my analytical tendencies, I can see what's in store for me. . .
Me: Are those crumbs on your nose?
Son: What?!
Me: The cookie jar appears empty. Did you eat the cookies while I was blogging?
Son: The evidence appears to lead in that direction, but it all depends on your epistemic perspective on the validity of sensory evidence—According to Gordon Clark. . .
Me: You were wrong to take those cookies when I told you to wait.
Son: But, mom, I’ve been culturally conditioned to expect instant gratification. I’m part of a generation that isn’t accustomed to waiting for anything. Established psychological studies show that behavioral patterns engrained in people from their youth are notoriously difficult to change, even with professional therapy.
Me: Well, that’s no excuse. You know that I want you to ask me before you eat something I’ve expended effort to bake.
Son: Yes, that may be valid from a modernist perspective, Mom, but as you surely realize, the modern world is long gone. As child of post-modernism, I respond better to principles embedded in narrative and music rather than categorical commands.
Me: All right, then. Let’s write our own drama together. You mime stealing cookies and then I’ll hit you over the head repeatedly with a blunt object. When you regain consciousness, I’ll compose a song about skipping dinner for the next three weeks.
Son: Come on, Mom! Why can’t we embrace tolerance in this household?
Me: I’m all about tolerance. I’ll tolerate you disobeying me as long as you tolerate being grounded from video games for the next millennium.
Son: It seems we’re working from fundamentally different meta-narratives. . .
