SHOUTS & MURMURS: THINGS I'VE HEARD MYSELF SAY ALOUD TO MY KIDS
The New Yorker|December 04, 2023
I just told everyone to keep their bodies to themselves in the car, and then you put your feet on the back of your brother's head, and we see you're on your phone, which we repeatedly asked you to leave at home, and so now there's going to have to be a big consequence, and now a chasm has opened between my consciousness and the words emerging from my mouth, and I hear a cascade of scolding clichés rush forth in a frictionless flow, as if I'm an A.I. chatbot with the prompt "Lecture my kids in a style that they will completely ignore and will cause me deep sadness," because I don't know where all this boilerplate hectoring comes from, but the reason we keep our bodies to ourselves is that we treat our bodies and other people's bodies with respect, and if you keep doing that we're going to tell Nana how you behaved.
JAY KATSIR
SHOUTS & MURMURS: THINGS I'VE HEARD MYSELF SAY ALOUD TO MY KIDS

Could Nana be the one who planted this forest of platitudes in my brain, where it silently germinated until the moment when stop that right now, we told you that word is inappropriate, and it's even more inappropriate to sing it repeatedly as a catchy jingle so that your brother remembers it and repeats it in the Fives Room at preschool, so if we hear it again it means we have a listening problem, and it means that at some point I must have unwittingly memorized a book titled "Empty Threats for Desperate Weenies." All I know is that if we don't start improving our rule following we're going to start examining why we say everything in the first-person plural, because we sure seem afraid of the implications of saying that it is you who have upset me and that I have decided to enforce a boundary that might cause you unhappiness, and that's why you're going to lose Switch for a week, or at least I'll hide MLB: The Show under an old nasal-strip box in the nightstand and then forget where I put it. Sticker chart.

هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة December 04, 2023 من The New Yorker.

ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.

هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة December 04, 2023 من The New Yorker.

ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.

المزيد من القصص من THE NEW YORKER مشاهدة الكل
ART OF STONE
The New Yorker

ART OF STONE

\"The Brutalist.\"

time-read
6 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
MOMMA MIA
The New Yorker

MOMMA MIA

Audra McDonald triumphs in \"Gypsy\" on Broadway.

time-read
5 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS
The New Yorker

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

\"Black Doves,\" on Netflix.

time-read
5 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
NATURE STUDIES
The New Yorker

NATURE STUDIES

Kyle Abraham's “Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful.”

time-read
5 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
WHAT GOOD IS MORALITY?
The New Yorker

WHAT GOOD IS MORALITY?

Ask not just where it came from but what it does for us

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
THE SPOTIFY SYNDROME
The New Yorker

THE SPOTIFY SYNDROME

What is the world's largest music-streaming platform really costing us?

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
THE LEPER - LEE CHANGDONG
The New Yorker

THE LEPER - LEE CHANGDONG

. . . to survive, to hang on, waiting for the new world to dawn, what can you do but become a leper nobody in the world would deign to touch? - From \"Windy Evening,\" by Kim Seong-dong.

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
YOU WON'T GET FREE OF IT
The New Yorker

YOU WON'T GET FREE OF IT

Alice Munro's partner sexually abused her daughter. The harm ran through the work and the family.

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
TALK SENSE
The New Yorker

TALK SENSE

How much sway does our language have over our thinking?

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
TO THE DETECTIVE INVESTIGATING MY MURDER
The New Yorker

TO THE DETECTIVE INVESTIGATING MY MURDER

Dear Detective, I'm not dead, but a lot of people can't stand me. What I mean is that breathing is not an activity they want me to keep doing. What I mean is, they want to knock me off. My days are numbered.

time-read
3 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025