Dad Stuff

The Wellington Aero Club had an open day on Saturday. For a little girl who spent happy hours poking around racing cars in Te Papa a few months ago who likes to go to the airport to watch the planes, and her daddy, this seems pretty much like a heaven-sent afternoon, and that’s how it turned out.

As well as the pictured cockpit sessions in the pictured CT-4E and CJ6 Nanchang, Ada got chances to hop into the pilot’s seat of a Sounds Air Cessna Caravan, although we missed out on the Trojan when the owner needed a bio break.

While I attempted to explain the Trojan and Corsair’s features for aircraft carriers—the Corsair had it’s wings up—I don’t think Ada really grasped the idea of planes that land and take off boats.

The only real disappointments of the day were the tiny two-seat plane, whose owners shut up shop just as we arrived to have a look (I suspect Ada may have been so wedded to it because it looked, well, child-sized), and missing out on a chance to go up for a flight in the Catalina, which had run out of seat allocations by the time I asked. She was, however, a little trooper about it; she was really upset, but avoided any kind of tantrum. I need to make it up to her with a trip on a plane when I can afford it.

One not-so-minor irk, though: a few women earlier in the day had heard my plan and suggested that the whole business was about Daddy using Ada as an excuse to do something. Yes, yes, I know it’s a standard cultural trope that men only do things with their kids to have an excuse to buy things for themselves, and that little girls can’t possibly be interested in aircraft. It’s a bullshit sexist trope, too.

Ada with her OLPC

So, I didn’t get to writing anything for Lovelace day proper. This is probably because I was busy writing about Jean Reno for French class (il est pas rasé). Homework first, people. Although I guess if I was less stupified by poor sleep this week I would have thought to write about a famous woman and combined my homework with an educational exercise re: Lovelace day.

So, I don’t have that. I do, however, have this; a picture of Ada playing with her loaner OLPC, which provides her with many hours of entertainment and budding computer literacy.

Ada: “I am going to make this a chicken sandwich. Chicken is going in the sandwich. He is in my big car.”

Rodger: “Does chicken want to be eaten?”

Ada: “Nooooo.”

Rodger: “Then perhaps chicken shouldn’t go in the sandwich.”

Ada: “Chicken has to go in the sandwich, because it’s a chicken sandwich.”

Ada then stuffs the toy chicken—the same toy chicken, I note that went to hospital with her when she was seriously ill at 7 months—into the cushions making up the sandwich, ordering him to “push your head in!”, throws a towel over it so the sandwich will cook, and then announces:

“Chicken is making a terrible fuss!”

Rodger: “Is that because chicken doesn’t want to be eaten?”

Ada: “Yes. Now you must eat the chicken sandwich.”

Fortunately I had already been designated a triceratops, so no chicken for me.

I’m far too sentimental to have given her any of this cooking and eating my toys. I blame her mother.