My baby daughter Laura Telluria Kirk is now 11 years old … they grow up so fast.
Like her sisters before her, she is one of the most grounded individuals in terms of creating things instead of buying things you will ever meet at her age, and her mother and I helped her get there through a rather strong Kirkish stage of “If I see it, I want it and will have it.”
Don't get me wrong. I saw her mother and wanted her and got her. My child comes by that tendency naturally.
The thing is, that could have gone wrong all kinds of ways. My wife is a quarter-Vulcan, and so looks far younger than arguably you would expect a woman who literally is among the most powerful women in the galaxy to be – 55 and already a full fleet admiral when I met her. I was 24. Admiral Vlarian Triefield could have had a boy toy like me at that time in every port and I never would have known about it – or would have known about it, and been able to do absolutely nothing. It's just that I am blessed that she is a disciplined, virtuous woman and faithful wife, who truly loves me.
That said, I have been intent on gently but firmly keeping this particular tendency from getting out of hand n my children, and Laura's turn came when she was five, on account of our neighbors having the creature above as a pet.
Thought about from a child's perspective, a Perlvovian Ice Sloth has all the characteristics of the perfect pet – easy to get along with as a tribble, purry as a house cat, and large as a large dog – big enough to take naps leaning against on the floor in the sunshine.
Laura was intent on us getting one of our own, despite Mark V. her elder brother's warning comment.
“It's a nice dog or cat or whatever it is, and we'll never need a rug for that part of the room,” the eight-year-old said, “but the way it moves it's got to be all hair.”
Laura was five and of course did not care about the details like the Kirk she is.
My wife and I talked about it, and then decided on a plan.
“Oh, thank you so much!” our neighbors said when they dropped the ice sloth off with us. “We were going to have to pay extra kennel fees because shedding season is about to start, but this is so kind of you!”
“Oh, it's no problem at all,” I said. “You all have a good trip, now!”
Laura was overjoyed.
“This is just a little while, starting on our forever!” she said, snuggling up with the creature.
“Oh, she thinks she stole something,” eldest sister 14-year-old Marcia said as I went about setting aside a nice room for our borrowed pet.
V.T. put her finger to her lips.
“Don't make me remind you about that gyroscope laser toy you wanted at her age, Miss Marcia,” she said.
“Oop,” 11-year-old Valerie said as she went about her business.
For two days, Laura and baby Laurence, her almost-two-year-old brother, had a good time with our borrowed pet, and we her parents sat back and smiled and waited.
On day 3, the shedding began.
Mark V. my eight-year-old was right. By weight, a Perlvovian Ice Sloth is 90 percent hair, and it gets ready for the summer by shedding all but its down coat.
“AYIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
That was the same Laura, the morning of that third day, confronted with a creature she did not at all recognize, looking like a lizard with six legs and a carpet for fur.
And then Laurence, not knowing better, crawled up for his snuggle, and disappeared into the pile of loose hair the ice sloth had just shed.
By the time V.T. and I made the scene, Laura was desperately searching the pile of fur for her brother.
“Sneeze or something – say something – Lauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurence!”
Then she saw us and started crying and hyperventilating and having an absolute fit while I went and pulled a very confused Laurence, who was also crying, out of the massive pile of hair.
Perlvovian Ice Sloth hair is very fine; every breath of wind moves it. It was summer on Ventana 5, so, the screen windows were open.
For Laura, the worst was still yet to come, while her mother patiently began working the fur out of every part of Laurence.
“Well, you wanted this pet,” I said as I closed the windows for the time being, “so that means you have to do everything that goes with it.”
And I pulled the Laura-sized broom and dust pan out from where I had been keeping it, and handed it to her.
Laura threw both broom and dust pan down and flopped onto the sofa and started crying again … and then was outdone when I was still standing right there with the broom and dust pan.
“How are you still standing right there with those things!” she cried.
“You still have to do the work, Laura.”
Her eyes flashed from fury – yes, she was absolutely the child of Marcus Aurelius Kirk Jr. and Vlarian Triefield – but she knew me. Although I was not that dad who gets mad and yells and all that, I was also not that dad who could could be bluffed. You can't raise Kirks and be weak on either side – my own father and mother had shown me that.
So, Laura took the broom and dust pan, the tears running down her face, and got to work … and then noticed that once she got started, I came with the regular broom and dust pan to help her. It was an hour's work because that hair got around, but afterward I let her cry in my arms because it was a lot to process for her.
“So you see, Laura, that we can want a lot of things, but sometimes we need to listen to our parents when they tell us no, because sometimes there are things that we don't know about what we want that will leave us sad and cleaning up behind a mess.”
“Can you take that thing back?” she said.
“Our neighbors will be back in four days,” I said.
“Four days!” she said, and started crying again.
“But you wanted it forever,” I said gently.
“But I didn't know what I was talking about!” she wailed.
“Which is why, my dear, sometimes you just have to trust your mom and me,” I said.
She cried herself to sleep, and I put her down next to Laurence, who finally was fur free and had cried himself to sleep as well.
The Perlvovian Ice Sloth was none the worse for wear, neither knowing nor caring what all the fuss was about, as indifferent as any house cat would be to certain humans not wanting to even look at it. Now that it could fit on the windowsills and on top of the bookshelves and even hang from the ceiling, it did so, following the sunbeams and basically enjoying the run of the house.
Laura was so completely done with the whole thing that she stood with her little face glued to the window, watching to make sure our neighbors took their ice sloth to their side of the property line.
“How they could just run that thing in on us!” she said.
“Would it have made any difference to you a week ago?” I said gently, and she hung her head.
“Why you gotta know me like this, Daddy?” she said, and I laughed and picked her up.
“That's my job, Laura. Yeah, I ship stuff across the galaxy and hire others to do it too, but the real job is to know you and make sure you grow up right.”
She smiled at last and kissed my cheek.
“Well, you're really good at your real job, even though you get on my nerves sometimes!”
“I love you too, Laura Kirk. It's what Kirks do when they love each other, sometimes.”