The statement landed with a thud on the dinner table like, a too hot to handle bowl of mac and cheese. Bradley Ascot looked past his seven-year old daughter, and straight at his wife, Julie. Neither wanted to acknowledge what had been said, so little Madison decided it would be good idea to make her announcement again.
“I want to be a YouTube video reviewer when I grow up,” the child said, with a wide smile indicating the news was designed to please her parents.
Brad and Julie were locked in a stare-down to see who would cave first and address their daughter’s career aspirations.
“I mean, after I get out of Harvard,” Madison said.
The follow up statement produced sighs of relief from both parents, and a helpful correction from dad.
“I love how you said Harvard, sweetie. That was so great. But we like to say, graduate, okay? Not, when I ‘get out of.’ But a wonderful job of highlighting Harvard as your choice for college.”
Brad was proud of his execution of the Praise Sandwich, and winked at Julie.
“Why don’t we see what else you’re interested in as you get older, sweetie,” Julie said to her daughter.
“No, no,” Madison said. “You always said to find something you love early in life, and stick with it. Reviewing YouTube videos is it. It’s what I want to do. It’s my calling.”
Julie choked on the wine she had been gulping, then recovered nicely and had a bit more.
“And just who, or what, put this idea in your head?” Brad asked his little girl.
“I read about it on my phone. On the NewsyKids app you and mom paid for. YouTube is going to have thousands of people reviewing videos. Isn’t that’s great? You should do that, dad!”
“Well, daddy has a very big job at a very big law firm, Madison,” Julie said.
“I know, he’s always telling me. But watching YouTube videos for work would be fun,” the littlest Ascot said.
Before either parent could say anything else there was a ding from the living room. Madison pushed her chair back from the table, and ran out of the room in her Lilly Pulitzer designed school uniform. “Someone is texting me. They must think my dinner is over. I’m using the, I’m Eating app to tell my friends when I’ll be free after a meal.”
Brad’s forced smile disappeared as soon as Madison was gone. “Any idea what the hell this is all about? We’ve talked to her about law, medicine, investment banking and Bitcoin trading, but reviewing YouTube videos?”
“It’s just a phase,” Julie said.
“It has to end, and it should have never started in the first place. She must have picked this up from someone at that damn school,” he said.
“You can’t blame the school for everything, honey,” Julie said.
“Well, we’re not paying $63,491 a year for her second-grade education at the Lethal Peaceful Resistance Gluten-Free Academy to have her come home spouting about wanting to become a YouTube video reviewer, that’s for damn sure.”
“Honey, calm down,” Julie said. “Maybe it would be a good idea if we met with one of the Child-Parent Career Resolution specialists at LPRGFA. I’ve heard that they are just terrific in situations like this, where the child’s career aspirations don’t measure up to the parent’s plans.”
“Good heavens,” Brad said. “This is exactly the thing I worried about when you said you wanted us to do family dinners. If I stayed at the office, and you two ate out again, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. It would just be another one of the million thoughts passing through the girl’s mind. Now, it’s a career path.”
“And please, let’s not blame it on the family dinner,” Julie said.
“Maybe we should just invite Hector in from now on. I mean, he’s sitting out there in the driveway waiting to drive me back to work. Maybe if he joined us it would inhibit Madison from articulating these silly ideas.”
Brad pulled out his phone and quickly found the news Madison had been talking about. “Geez, she’s right. The Journal says YouTube will have more than 10,000 people reviewing content.”
Julie slugged back the last of her wine, then said. “Those poor people.”
“It says 400 hours of video is uploaded to the site every minute. That’s 65 years of footage a day,” Brad said, reading his phone. “It’s like some rapidly spreading video virus washing over us. What would compel someone to want to sit there and review that stuff all day?”
“Maybe they have a good benefits package or something,” Julie said.
“Yes, they’re owned by Google’s parent company. Maybe that’s it.”
Madison raced back into the room waving her phone. “Look, look, I found this video of the cutest cat. It’s playing the violin.”
“Let me see that damn phone,” Brad said, grabbing his daughter’s phone. “I’ve had enough of this silliness.”
“Brad,” Julie said. “Watch your language. We agreed to show only limited emotion in front of Madison.”
Brad never heard a word Julie said. He was too engrossed in the instrument-playing cat.
“I’ll be damned, the cat is playing the violin,” he said, grinning and laughing. “Would you look at that.”
“It’s so cool, isn’t it, Dad?” Madison yelled. “And wait till you see the one of the grizzly bear petting a poodle.”
“Get that one playing for me would you, sweetie?” Brad said to his daughter.
“Maybe it’s time you get back to the firm,” Julie said, alarmed.
“What firm?” Brad asked, mesmerized by the animal videos.
Julie stared from the other end of the table, realizing the tragic consequences of family dinners.
“Are you going to finish your wine?” she asked her husband.