Safety Worth the Price of Admission

Today was my second installment in wife-mandated childbirth and parenting courses. On the agenda: Child Safety (a/k/a Why It's Bad to Let Your Kid Drink Turpentine in an Unharnessed Child Seat).

Our instructor was a middle-aged fireman/paramedic that clearly took pride in his work. So much so that he opened his presentation by describing how he is a "Certified Child Seat Specialist." Given that it was early Sunday morning, I thought this was his humorous way of rousing interest from a roomful of parents-to-be who'd rather be doing something else right then. Reading the paper, going to church, having breakfast, or even doing recreational long-division are a few more appealing alternatives that come to mind. But ten minutes later, after learning how many child seats one most install to earn the title "Certified Child Seat Specialist," I realized this guy was as serious as the Understanding Stroke poster on the wall next to me.

It was then that my Inner Eighth-Grader -- who's never up before noon -- decided to show up for class after all.

What a dork. This guy's all happy about being a "Certified Child Seat Specialist." I'll bet he's a "Certified Wiener" too.

Ugh. I didn't need to hear from him today. I tried to shut him up, but his dopey delivery of "Certified Wiener" made me giggle pathetically.

How hard could it be to put in a stupid car seat? Insert Tab A into Slot B, pull seat belt and viola -- safe baby! You need to get out of here. The Beavis and Butthead marathon starts in 15 minutes, man.

I'm glad I ignored him.

One hour and [only] two car seats later, I knew exactly why there are Certified Child Seat Specialists in this world. The complexity of these devices amazes me. Some hook up underneath the car seat, others through the seat belt; some tighten from the rear, others the front; some slope, while still others recline; where one detaches, another is fixed. I had Transformers that weren't as complex as these things.

But that's just installation. There are also rules you have to follow.

Children less than one year and up to 20 pounds must be in the center of the backseat facing the back of the vehicle at a 45-degree angle. If at forty-four degrees, you ask?

Dead baby.

Children over one year and between 20 and 40 pounds must be in the center of the back seat with a five-point chest harness clipped at armpit level. If the harness is slightly below the armpit?

Dead baby.

Children over 40 pounds but less than eight years or 4' 9" in height must be in a harnessed booster chair in the center of the back seat facing forward. If you dare putting a normal seat belt on one of these giants? You guessed it.

Dead baby.

Terrified and yet awe inspired by his knowledge, I wondered why our instructor volunteered to waste his Sunday morning with a dolt like me? Surely this man had something better to do with his command of preventative automotive safety. For Pete's sake, NASCAR calls.

After a brief recess, we left vehicular dangers in the dust for one closer to home:




Wait, sorry, this is what I meant:

Our instructor spent a few minutes with the basics. Things like: Don't leave your child alone with an open gas can. And: If your child eats rat poison, you should call 9-1-1 before ordering the pizza. Or: If you give your child syrup of ipecac, this might happen.

These seem like real no-brainers, right?

I agree.

So, imagine my surprise when I look up from my magazine and see half the class taking notes.

And I'm not talking an underline here or there, I'm talking actual verbatim transcription. I observed one parent-to-be vigorously scribbling every word our fearless leader had to say about poison. I could almost hear her:

Okay, nope, do not let baby drink lamp oil -- that's bad. Got it. What's that he's got in his hand now? Yeah, that's bleach. Is that -- okay nope, nope, he's putting that in the "bad" pile. No bleach for baby -- got it. Darn it, what did he say about aftershave? Bad? No, wait, wait -- it smells good, so it can't be all that bad. I better ask him after class.

She paused momentarily to quizzically survey her peers. Why isn't everybody else writing all this down? She shook her head. Dummies. Their poor kids will be lucky to see four.

At that moment, I learned the most valuable information yet: I might not be as far behind on the old parenting curve as I once believed. I danced inside knowing my child would be safe. Yes, my child would be safe.

And that alone was worth the price of admission.