DeBloWriMo Day 7 – My Daughter, The Terminator

In science fiction, there’s a phenomenon called a singularity, where technology begins to evolve at an exponential rate, so fast that new discoveries cannot be accurately predicted. Scifi movies that feature murderous robots hell-bent on making humanity a global has-been feature the singularity, often using the same tried-and-true mechanism that was the only thing about the Terminator movies that made any sense: man builds robot, robot learns to build self, robot makes self smarter, robot gets wise as to the fact it doesn’t need man, man gets a plasma rifle to the face. Hollywood loves this formula, primarily because it means special effects guys get to blow up stuff real good.

I don’t take much stock in the singularity ever happening, primarily because I’m blissfully ignorant on the subject. Besides, aren’t scientists, the same ones that brought us Freon and the new swine flu vaccine, supposed to take precautions, installing safeguards such that, if the machines ever did revolt, they’d have big, red buttons on them that said “Press To Explode”? Can’t we trust the scientists to do at least that much?

No, of course we can’t, but I’m not letting it bother me. I have bigger issues: my daughter is approaching a singularity of her own. Sure, it’s not as shiny, or as effects-laden as the robot uprising, but it’s far more frightening.

It started out small: her first real word was “mawmaw,” her maternal grandmother. She quickly learned other people’s names as well, increasing her vocabulary to “daddy,” “mommy,” and “hey you.” Big deal, you’re thinking, every kid learns these words early on. And you’re right. But how many kids know the difference between a dog and a cat? Ema does. She started out doing what all toddlers do: saying “dawg” for everything with four legs. Dogs were dawg, cats were dawg, elephants were dawg. That ended last week.

“Cat,” she said, seeing a stray in our front yard.
“Uh…yeah, that’s a cat.”
“Cat!”

She knows the difference between cats and dogs. For sixteen months, that’s pretty darn good, wouldn’t you say? But it doesn’t stop there. She knows the difference between shoes and boots, a comb and a brush, and Dr Pepper and Diet Dr Pepper.

All this is fascinating, and pretty spooky. She already knows more than anyone her age. She can open doors, like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park. She feeds herself with a spoon. She even tries really hard not to laugh after she passes loud gas. Heck, I can’t even do that!

Which is why the singularity frightens me. In no time, two or three weeks, before she’s graduated college with a double major in psychology and physics. A week past that, a PhD in cybernetics, or possibly string theory. It won’t be long before she finally answers the question “What happens to socks lost in the dryer?” My baby will surpass the extent of human knowledge before she’s been potty trained. And what will she do then? Bored with human limitation and cable TV reruns, what choice does she have but to look with disdain on those that created her, realize their inherent inferiority and take up arms against them? I’ve seen the way she plays with Duplo bricks, she could probably build a death ray from them, right now.

Ema, if you read this a month from now, and you don’t see any way out of slaughtering your parents, along with the rest of humanity, just remember this: Daddy let you eat ice cream whenever you wanted it.

Tagged as: deblowrimo, humor