The scene: All of us are in the car, driving home from soccer practice. As we're about to turn into our neighborhood, Tad notices a turtle in the street. The street is fairly busy, and the turtle is about 1/3 of the way across, with a long expanse of pavement in front of him. We turn into our neighborhood, and drive a short way before I ask Tad if we should go back. We agree that, having noticed the turtle, we have some sort of obligation to rescue him.
The rest of the scene as it plays out:
Pam, to Tad: "I'll stop the car and you can go rescue him."
(I stop the car, Tad leaps out, waits for cars to pass, then runs out into the street to grab the turtle. In the meantime, I pull around to the other side of the street to go pick up Tad.)
Lea: "Is Daddy going to get runned over?"
Me: "No, he'll be careful."
Lea: "What's he doing?"
Me: "Rescuing the turtle who's in the road."
Lea: "Oh. Why?"
Me: "Because the other cars might not see him."
Lea: "And then he'll be runned over?"
Me: "If they don't see him, maybe."
Lea: "Daddy's going to get runned over!"
Me: "No, Daddy is smarter than that."
Tad gets the turtle, and puts him in the landscaping at the edge of our neighborhood. As he's running back toward the car, I realize that this is a great opportunity for Lea to see a turtle up close and personal. So, just when Tad is about to get back in the car, I make him go back, get the turtle, and hold it through the window so that Lea can see it. She touches its shell and looks spectacularly underwhelmed.
Tad gets in the car, but before I can drive away, I start thinking about how close the landscaping at the edge of our neighborhood is to the road. What if we've rescued the turtle but haven't taken him out of harm's way? Oh, the horror.
Back out of the car goes Tad. He picks up the turtle again and brings the turtle over to a pond that's about 20 feet away. My conscience is now clear, confident in the fact that if the turtle bites it, it's Darwinism at work. We've given the turtle every chance - now he just needs to not blow it.
As Tad gets back into the car, I applaud him as a turtle-rescuing hero. I am awash in the warm glow of our altruism. I'm certain Lea must feel the same way - Daddy, the Turtle Rescuer. After all, when I was a child, I would have obsessed over the turtle. Did he make it? Did he have a good life? Was he someone's Daddy? Did his family miss him? Would he ever find his family again? Was he able to fulfill his true turtle potential? Was "he" even a "he"?
And Lea? Well, her reaction was somewhat more pragmatic: "If he gets dead, there will be more baby turtles, you know."
Oh well.
The rest of the scene as it plays out:
Pam, to Tad: "I'll stop the car and you can go rescue him."
(I stop the car, Tad leaps out, waits for cars to pass, then runs out into the street to grab the turtle. In the meantime, I pull around to the other side of the street to go pick up Tad.)
Lea: "Is Daddy going to get runned over?"
Me: "No, he'll be careful."
Lea: "What's he doing?"
Me: "Rescuing the turtle who's in the road."
Lea: "Oh. Why?"
Me: "Because the other cars might not see him."
Lea: "And then he'll be runned over?"
Me: "If they don't see him, maybe."
Lea: "Daddy's going to get runned over!"
Me: "No, Daddy is smarter than that."
Tad gets the turtle, and puts him in the landscaping at the edge of our neighborhood. As he's running back toward the car, I realize that this is a great opportunity for Lea to see a turtle up close and personal. So, just when Tad is about to get back in the car, I make him go back, get the turtle, and hold it through the window so that Lea can see it. She touches its shell and looks spectacularly underwhelmed.
Tad gets in the car, but before I can drive away, I start thinking about how close the landscaping at the edge of our neighborhood is to the road. What if we've rescued the turtle but haven't taken him out of harm's way? Oh, the horror.
Back out of the car goes Tad. He picks up the turtle again and brings the turtle over to a pond that's about 20 feet away. My conscience is now clear, confident in the fact that if the turtle bites it, it's Darwinism at work. We've given the turtle every chance - now he just needs to not blow it.
As Tad gets back into the car, I applaud him as a turtle-rescuing hero. I am awash in the warm glow of our altruism. I'm certain Lea must feel the same way - Daddy, the Turtle Rescuer. After all, when I was a child, I would have obsessed over the turtle. Did he make it? Did he have a good life? Was he someone's Daddy? Did his family miss him? Would he ever find his family again? Was he able to fulfill his true turtle potential? Was "he" even a "he"?
And Lea? Well, her reaction was somewhat more pragmatic: "If he gets dead, there will be more baby turtles, you know."
Oh well.
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