Do human beings have freewill? Or is our future predetermined? If the former, then how can there be a divine plan or purpose to the universe? If the latter, then how can morality, or even truth, exist? Such questions as these I pondered the other day as I reached with my free hand for yet another diaper-wipe.
Like any renegade super-computer, Siena has exercised her burgeoning self-awareness with a mix of curiousity and mischief that threatens to change the world as we know it. She now has to choose what her parents had been choosing for her. For example, it's no good to simply lay out an outfit for Siena; she'll automatically reject it, and insist on picking her own outfit. On the other hand, neither can you stand with her in her closet and offer her items off the rack; she'll simply say "No" to each one without ever actually picking something. No, you have to give her two choices, let her pick, then be ready to switch to the other when she expresses her inevitable buyer's remorse.
But the stupidest thing that she does is choose her diaper. For those of you unfamiliar with the process, we do not buy diapers like one might buy shoes, that is, individually after careful consideration of style, functionality, and comfort. We buy them by the bale, in big plastic aggregations of forty or fifty. And they are as identical as modern industrial processes can make them, down to the last detail. Does this matter to Siena? Heck, no.
Once the area has been decontaminated, I reach down in the cabinet and pull out a diaper for her. I do this becuase I keep forgetting that she'll immediately respond with "No My Pick Diaper! No My Pick Diaper!" So then I have to take her down off the changing table and wait while YinYang peruses the selection of diapers.
Disposable diapers.
Forty-odd to a case.
Identical.
Take your time.
Sometimes, for soelly my own amusement, I'll replace the diaper that I took out for her, just to see if she'll take it. I'd say about half the time, she does.
So what's the value of having this choice? It's a choice among indistinguishable diapers. But she's got to have her choice. I suppose that women have to start early, learning the discipline of taking forever to make up their minds about things like which pair of shoes to buy, what color to paint the living room, and what to name their children (Pocahontas? Evangelina? Magdalena? Oh yeah, we kicked 'em all around). My little girl's growing up.
But this experience has taught me some important philosophical truths. You see, in this situation, I'm in God's perspective, the all-powerful ruler of the universe, whose child has all the freedom that I grant. And while my child has freedom to make her own choice, in the end I'll take whatever choice she makes and turn it toward my inscrutable purposes--in this case, getting her dressed so that I can resume surfing the Internet or whatever.
Thank you, Siena--and thank you, 54-pack of Dora the Explorer disposeable diapers--for enlightening me as to the nature of freewill.
