My children have spent the last three hours not fighting.
Let me repeat that slowly, for those of you who might not grasp the improbability of that statement.
MY CHILDREN HAVE NOT FOUGHT IN WELL OVER THREE HOURS.
I'm sure you realize how bone-deep I wish that I could chalk this one-in-a-million event up to my stellar parenting, the ungodly amount of money I've spent on doctors, therapy and medication or even the alignment of the planets. Alas, all for nought. (Well, probably not for nought, but you know I'm all about the drama, kids. Get real.)
Why, then, you ask, are my children getting along so well?
(You did ask, right?)
Or, as I like to phrase it, EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN AND SPEED RACER ROCKS THE CASBAH.
Climb into the time machine and let us take a trip back to 1971.
I am almost six years old. I have fallen off a horse and (as we later find out) broken my arm. As my mother frantically dials the doctor to describe my symptoms and ask what she should do, the only thing preventing me from shrieking like a banshee and ripping the bag of ice off my forearm is the fact that my crush , my love, the man I fully intend to someday marry is on television. His show comes on and I am spellbound.
He is Speed Racer.
Who does that crazy chick Trixie think she is, horning in on my boyfriend?
Its 1972 and me and my best friend Rich Butler play Speed Racer endlessly. We turn my rope swing into an elevator that we ride down to the lab where we do crazy modifications on the Mach 5 and turn it into a space ship, a submarine, a horse drawn buggy, an armored tank. We fight evil. We win races. GO SPEED RACER, GO!
It is 2011.
My son, he is in love. The object of his affection? A car. Oh, not just any car, mind you. The Mach 5 has been replaced, in Speed Racer: The Next Generation, by the Mach 6. My son is rapt, and I can see he imagines himself behind the wheel, navigating every turn, repelling every danger. He is a hero.
My daughter? She is in love as well.
Somebody needs to tell her that Speed Racer is already taken.
But it won't be me. I'll gladly trade away my first crush for the blissful quiet that ensues when one cartoon wraps itself around this generation's heart and gives them, for one afternoon, something they can agree on. SPEED RACER IS WICKED AWESOME. And my kids are not fighting.