Eric and I had fun joking about the crowd.
Afterwards, we went to Plush to see a show that Sean's undergrad friend had organized. When we got there, though, we realized that we weren't really in the mood for volume. Friendly words with my former student Annika segued into good conversation at one of those tables along the wall in the in-between room.
By the time Sean arrived, we were in conversational high gear.
Both of them said very insightful things. Eric compared the sort of occurrences that outrage each of us the most. Noting the way I had complained about Arizona fans "whining" about foul calls even though they were thirty points ahead, he reduced my outrage to a wonderful allegory: I'm the kind of person who gets most outraged when rich people tip poorly.
Eventually, however, the exchange became a little too serious for my tired brain to deal with.
A discussion of different parenting styles, coupled with half-made connections to our ongoing discussion -- with Laura, Susan, and others -- of pedagogy proved to be more intense that I had anticipated.
Have you ever started a conversation with a point of view that you don't fully believe in and which you recognize to be ideologically untenable?
That was me in this parenting conversation.
I knew I couldn't really defend the position I'd begun to articulate, but pressed on anyway.
Eric rightly took me to task for projecting my own sense of how people should parent onto others.
Somehow, though, I couldn't free myself from the rhetorical straightjacket in which I'd confined myself. And that made me grow frustrated as a I tired.
Leaving 4th Ave., I told Sean that I was still not sure what to make of the conversation, that it was still inchoate for me.
I wish writing this entry had clarified matters. but it hasn't, really.