I’ve got one last Mesa Southwest Museumstory.
As you can imagine, dinosaurs can be big – really big. When a child looks at them, they’re even bigger.
I’ve pointed out (leading to this story, actually) that Michelle is quite good at dinosaur identification – but that’s looking at books, or on the TV screen.
When she was confronted with the Apatosaurus at the museum yesterday, this picture is an approximation of what she saw. It’s no wonder that she incorrectly identified this dinosaur.
“Daddy, it’s a brachiasaurus!” she shouted excitedly.
I had already read the sign and knew it wasn’t, not that she was that far off, so I asked her, “Is that what it is?”, and she nodded, so I suggested we step back to get a better look at it.
Once we stepped back, I was going to ask her to look at the head and legs and I knew she’d get it, but before we got that far Anne Elk arrived on the scene.
(I’m sure Anne Elk is not her real name, I just instantly branded her that in my head. I chose the name not becuase of her looks, she was quite attractive and looked nothing like John Cleese in drag, but because of what she said.”)
Anne apparently felt that Michelle needed more feedback.
“That’s very good!”, she said, “It does look a lot like a brontosaur! You’re really good at this! This one is called Apatosaurus.”
I just tried to look at her and smile, not sure if I was irritated because she thought my daughter stupid enough to call it a ‘brontosaur’ (which she didn’t) or she thought my parenting needed some help.
(The fact that she just might be one of those people who talk to complete strangers never crossed my mind at the time.)
I was certainly irritated because she’d robbed Michelle of the chance to look over the skeleton and change her identification. I was sure she’d be able to stand back and see it wasn’t a brachiasaurus.
Later she tried again to encourage Michelle with a series of fatuous remarks like, “Aren’t their bones big” or “Isn’t he funny looking?”
Again, it rubbed me the wrong way, this time because she was talking to her like she was a baby. I smiled and remained silent thinking that her kid was probably still in diapers or something.
Finally, she came over to me and tried starting a conversation. If someone were trying to get this dad’s attention, she couldn’t have chosen a better topic:
“Your daughter is so bright. How old is she?”
“She’s three.”
“She is so clever. She really seems to know a lot about this stuff.”
She couldn’t have chosen a better topic, but by this point, I was just too entrenched in my irritation at this woman that I wouldn’t engage her in conversation. I couldn’t fathom why she kept coming back to us and trying to engage us.
She didn’t appear to be with a family or kids and, more to the point, Michelle wasn’t being that clever at the museum.
Shortly after seeing the apatosaurus she was frightened by the animatronic dinosaurs. I had calmed her down, but she was nervous and quiet, not running around and pointing at dinosaurs and saying, “It’s a triceratops!” or reciting facts or anything like that.
I just couldn’t help feeling like this was false praise and that she wanted something from us – and I wasn’t about to give it.
The “conversation” consequently went nowhere and she finally gave up.
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