Being an introvert parent of an extrovert child

Note: It’s been a long while since I wrote in this blog, and it’s time to start again. I’m moving away from political topics and will return to my original intent: writing about life in a Danish-American family. Here’s the first entry.

Sometimes you wonder how your children can turn out so differently from yourself. I’m an introvert, but my children are extroverts. It makes me happy that they don’t have to suffer from the same problems that have plagued me, but it also poses challenges. I’m shy, and I do not like to call attention to myself in a group. My 8-year-old daughter Nathalie is exactly the opposite. She loves nothing more than being the center of attention. That’s great for her, but since I’m her mom, this attention sometimes spills over to me.

Here is an example. In August, I took my three children to Gen Con, a large gaming convention that is held every year in Indianapolis. This is a four-day paradise for anyone who likes fantasy games, role-playing games, board games, trading card games, and everything else related to gaming. The convention attracts a mixed crowd of people; there are mostly gaming nerds, but also families with children. Many are dressed up in role-playing garb, and everyone is having a great time.

We go to Gen Con because of my two sons. Patrick plays StarWars Miniatures and Nicklas plays Yu-Gi-Oh cards. They both love to spend the weekend immersed in their favorite pastimes with fellow gaming enthusiasts. Nathalie and I just tag along to keep them company, and while the boys are busy playing, we spend our time walking around the halls of the Indianapolis conference center, trying to catch some of the activities for non-gaming family members.

This year they had a new activity. In one of the main hallways, a large cage was put up. This was some sort of fund-raising activity. For $5.00, you could accuse someone else of committing a “crime” (such as “ate the last slice of pizza” or “forgot to return my call”). This person would be found and escorted to the cage, where he or she would have to spend five minutes singing and entertaining the audience before being released. Nathalie thought this was marvelous, and she begged me to pay five dollars so she could “go to jail” and be required to sing for a crowd. I was completely mortified by the thought of having my daughter be on public display in a cage, and I simply could not believe that she would want to do this.

While we were watching, several people were “caught” and locked up in the cage. At one point, five or six people were inside, all singing “I’m a Little Teapot” and dancing to entertain the considerable crowd that had now gathered to watch this spectacle. Nathalie continued to beg me to “turn her in” so she could be a prisoner. I continued to say no. Then one of the attendants who overheard her begging decided to be helpful. She asked me if she could announce to the crowds whether anyone wanted to pay five dollars to put this little girl in jail.

Now I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me on the spot. How could I explain to the nice attendant that the issue wasn’t the money, but the utter embarrassment of having my daughter entertaining a crowd from inside a prison cage? Of course, I had no other choice than to cough up the money and “file a charge” against Nathalie. For her offense, I stated that she was “whining too much”.

Promptly, the attendant loudly proclaimed to the crowd that “this little girl has been accused by her mom of whining too much, and she’ll now be put in jail.” Nathalie joyfully entered the cage, which now had only a couple of other occupants. At least she wasn’t the only one in there. So there she was, behind bars, singing and dancing along with the others (mostly teenagers), while I was trying to pretend I had nothing to do with all this and just happened to stand there. It felt like a very long time, but finally the five minutes were up and she came out.

“Can I do it again?” she said.

I firmly grabbed her hand and we left the area.

Nathalie was happy as a clam, but I simply cannot fathom what would make anyone want to do something like this. And it makes me wonder how I could mother someone so different from myself. It must be her father’s genes.