Jonathan Foer - Here I Am

Max examined Benjy’s bowl: “Those are plain Cheerios with honey on them.”

“Yes.”

“So why did you lie to him?”

“Thanks, Max.”

“And I said toasted , not immolated .”

“Imlated?” Benjy asked.

“Destroyed by fire,” Deborah said.

“What’s with Camus?” Irv asked.

“Leave him alone,” Jacob said.

“Hey, Maxy,” Irv said, pulling his grandson into him, “someone once told me about the most incredible zoo…”

“Where’s Sam?” Deborah asked.

“Lying is bad,” Benjy said.

Max let out a laugh.

“Good one,” Irv said. “Right?”

“He got into a little trouble at Hebrew school this morning and is doing time up in his room.” And to Benjy: “I didn’t lie.”

Max peered into Benjy’s bowl and told him, “You realize that’s not even honey. It’s agave.”

“I want Mom.”

“We’re giving her a day off.”

“A day off from us ?” Benjy asked.

“No, no. She never needs time off from you guys.”

“Time off from you ?” Max asked.

“One of my friends, Joey, has two dads. But babies come out of vagina holes. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“No one lied to anyone.”

“I want a frozen burrito.”

“The freezer’s broken,” Jacob said.

“For breakfast?” Deborah asked.

“Brunch,” Max corrected.

“ Sí se puede ,” Irv said.

“I could run out and get you one,” Deborah offered.

“Frozen.”

Over the previous months, Benjy’s eating habits had veered toward what might be called unrealized foods: frozen vegetables (as in, still frozen when eaten), uncooked oatmeal, unboiled ramen noodles, dough, raw quinoa, dry macaroni with unreconstituted cheese powder sprinkled on top. Beyond adjusting shopping lists, Jacob and Julia never talked about it; it felt too psychological to touch.

“So what did Sammy do?” Irv asked, his mouth full of gluten.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Frozen burrito, please.”

“There might not be a later.”

“Apparently, he wrote some bad words on a piece of paper in class.”

“Apparently?”

“He says he didn’t do it.”

“Well, did he?”

“I don’t know. Julia thinks so.”

“Whatever the reality, and whatever each of you believes, you guys have to approach it together,” Deborah said.

“I know.”

“And remind me what a bad word is?” Irv said.

“You can imagine.”

“In fact I can’t. I can imagine bad contexts —”

“The words and the context of Hebrew school definitely didn’t jibe.”

“Which words?”

“Does it really matter?”

“Of course it really matters.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Deborah said.

“Let’s just say the n-word was featured.”

“I want a frozen— What’s the n-word?”

“Happy now?” Jacob asked his father.

“He used it actively or passively?” Irv asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Max said to his little brother.

“There’s no passive use of that word,” Jacob said to Irv. “And no, you won’t,” he said to Max.

“There might not be a later,” Benjy said.

“Did I really raise a son who refers to a word as that word ?”

“No,” Jacob said, “you didn’t raise a son.”

Benjy went to his grandma, who never said no: “If you love me you’ll get me a frozen burrito and tell me what the n-word is.”

“And what was the context?” Irv asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jacob said, “and we’re done talking about it.”

“Nothing could matter more. Without context, we’d all be monsters.”

“N-word,” Benjy said.

Jacob put down his fork and knife.

“OK, since you asked, the context is Sam watching you make a fool of yourself on the news every morning, and watching you being made a fool of on late shows every night.”

“You let your kids watch too much TV.”

“They watch hardly any.”

“Can we go watch TV?” Max asked.

Jacob ignored him and went back at Irv: “He’s suspended until he agrees to apologize. No apology, no bar mitzvah.”

“Apologize to whom?”

“Premium cable?” Max asked.

“Everyone.”

“Why not go all the way and extradite him to Uganda for some scrotal electrocution?”

Jacob handed a plate to Max and whispered something in his ear. Max nodded and left the table.

“He did something wrong,” Jacob said.

“Exercising his freedom of speech?”

“Freedom of hate speech.”

“Have you even banged a teacher’s desk yet?”

“No, no. Absolutely not. We had a talk with the rabbi, and now we’re fully in salvage-the-bar-mitzvah mode.”

“You had a talk ? You think talk got us out of Egypt or Entebbe? Uh-uh. Plagues and Uzis. Talk gets you a good place in line for a shower that isn’t a shower.”

“Jesus, Dad. Always?”

“Of course always. ‘Always’ so ‘never again.’”

“Well, what do you say you leave this one to me?”

“Because you’re doing such a great job?”

“Because he’s Sam’s father,” Deborah said. “And you’re not.”

“Because it’s one thing to pick up your dog’s shits,” Jacob said, “and it’s another to pick up your dad’s.”

“Shits,” Benjy echoed.

“Mom, could you go read to Benjy upstairs?”

“I want to be with the adults,” Benjy said.

“I’m the only adult here,” Deborah said.

“Before I blow my top,” Irv said, “I want to be sure I’m understanding. You’re suggesting that there’s a line to be drawn from my misread blog to Sam’s First Amendment problem?”

“No one misread your blog.”

“Radically misconstrued.”

“You wrote that Arabs hate their children.”

“Incorrect. I wrote that Arab hatred for Jews has transcended their love for their own children.”

“And that they are animals.”

“Yes. I wrote that, too. They’re animals. Humans are animals. This is definitional stuff.”

“Jews are animals?”

“It’s not that simple, no.”

“What’s the n-word?” Benjy whispered to Deborah.

“Noodle,” she whispered back.

“No it’s not.” She lifted Benjy in her arms and carried him out of the room. “The n-word is no ,” he said, “isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“No it’s not.”

“One Dr. Phil is already one too many,” Irv said. “What Sammy needs is a fixer. This is a bone-dry freedom of speech issue, and as you do or should know, I am not only on the national board of the ACLU, its members tell my story every Passover. If you were me— ”

“I’d kill myself to spare my family.”

“—you’d chum the Adas Israel waters for an insanely smart, autistically monomaniacal lawyer who has sacrificed worldly rewards for the pleasure of defending civil liberties. Look, I appreciate the pleasure of bitching about injustice as much as anyone, but you’re capable, Jacob, and he’s your son. No one would condemn you for not helping yourself, but no one would forgive you for not helping your son.”

“You’re romanticizing racism, misogyny, and homophobia.”

“Have you even read Caro’s—”

“I saw the movie.”

“I’m trying to get my grandson out of a bind. That’s so wrong?”

“If he shouldn’t get out of it.”

Benjy trotted back into the room: “Is it married ?”

“Is what married?”

“The n-word.”

“That begins with an m. ”

Benjy turned and trotted back out.