Sandwich of Ruin!

Overheard At The Science Museum

I'm not a father, by which I mean I'm not personally aware of any children in the world who call me Dad or are actively seeking the right to do so. I have not sired any youth. I have not been harvested of any loin fruit. The number of women whom I have knocked up remains zero.

And, if last weekend was any indication, I am in no way prepared to enter the realm of fatherhood, at least not if I can possibly avoid it.

My girlfriend, Melissa, and I went to the Minnesota Science Museum on Saturday, a venue which touts itself as "Minnesota's Favorite Museum," a haughty distinction that is ruefully contested by the likes of the Minnesota Lefse and Lutefisk Museum and the Institute For The Evolution Of "You Betcha."

I like the Science Museum, don't get me wrong, even though changes to their exhibits happen at a rate than makes glacial drift seem speedy. Melissa and I went to the museum last year, and very little has changed in that time: there's still the working of the human body on display, complete with flayed human organs forever frozen in time by some sort of plastic-like preserving agent; and there's still the weather exhibit downstairs that tries to explain, through instruments more complicated than an airplane cockpit, why it rains in June.

The Science Museum, understandably, caters largely to children, which is fine, I guess. I mean, considering they change exhibits about once every Millenium, I can see why they want a primary audience that really can't remember much about their last visit two months ago. Everything is new to a seven-year-old, even if all the parents secretly wink and nudge to each other because they know nothing has changed at all.

The problem I have with so many children running around the Science Museum is this: there are so many children running around the Science Museum. It's like a daycare facility gone horribly wrong. From my non-father perspective, here's how the Science Museum works: children, most of whom can't read words longer than "hello," are introduced to a wondrous world of flashing lights and buttons and interactive exhibits.

Mind you, they have no idea what any of the lights and buttons and interactive exhibits represent, but that sure won't stop them from pushing everything in sight. All the while, one or both parents try to explain to the excitable youth or youths what it is they're doing, while the children listen with half an ear. The dialogue goes something like this:

CHILD: Wow! What's this!?

FATHER: That's a microscope. Would you like to look at a magnified leech? *struggles to put leech under the microscope*

CHILD: *now twelve feet away from the microscope* Wow! What's this!?

FATHER: That's a human brain. Don't you want to see the leech?

CHILD: Ewww, a brain! That's gross! What's this!?

FATHER: That's a water faucet. Don't. . . don't spit your gum in there!

CHILD: Can I have another piece of gum?

And that's just one conversation out of thousands that play out during a typical day at the Science Museum. Although a visit to the museum is supposed to be a fun and exciting learning experience for children, judging by the look on most parents' faces at the end of the day, the Science Museum mostly drives the sale of aspirin.

One particular drama that you see played out several times over the course of a day at the Science Museum is the theatrical tantrums diplayed by children who are pulled away from an exhibit before they're darned good and ready. One exhibit, for example, is a children's delight. It consists of a serious of vents that, when the appropriate button is pushed, sends out of a puff of scented air to an awaiting nose at the vent. Not surprisingly, the vent that gets the most use is the one that smells suspiciously like a rotting diaper. For some reason, children think it's hysterical to have stinky air puffed at their noses.

CHILD: PHEW! That really stinks! *pushes button again* YUCK! Mom, you should smell this!

MOTHER: Yes, I smelled it earlier. Come on now, your father and brother are waiting upstairs.

CHILD: EWW! This really, really smells bad! *pushes button for a tenth time* This is so gross!

MOTHERS: Come on, now, that's enough. *grabs child's arm, pulling away from stink machine*

CHILD: WAAIIIIIIILLLLLLLL!

It was about time, really, because I couldn't wait to get at that stink machine.

Posted by Ryan at February 23, 2004 10:33 AM