I’d like to give my kids a Coke and teach them to pipe down

The boy swam up to us. He’s going into fourth grade. He didn’t even prepare a preamble, he just launched right into it. “Why is that baby drinking a Coke? I’ve never seen a baby drink a Coke before.”

My wife and I looked at each other and laughed. He was talking about our youngest, who’s 3 years old and was indeed drinking a Coke. My 6-year-old rushed to her sister’s defense, and insisted she was not a baby.

“Well, I’ve never seen a toddler drinking a Coke either,” the boy said, and swam off. Again, more laughter. To be clear: My wife and I willingly gave our 3-year-old a Coke. A mini-bottle, but still: A Coke.

Go ahead and judge. Because I know I would’ve judged, pre-kids. If I saw a 3-year-old drinking a Coke, I would’ve been scandalized. It’s gross. Sugar, caffeine, chemicals, whatnot? Come on. That’s terrible, bad, horrible parenting right there. There is no reason a 3-year-old should have their own mini-bottle of Coke. Disgusting. And truthfully, if I had only one kid and saw some 3-year-old drinking a Coke, I also would’ve silently tsk-tsk’ed the parenting choices.

But I don’t have only one kid, nor am I childless. I have three children, and they are all very alarming. (I stole that line from a novel by Kim Stanley Robinson. It’s such a good descriptor. Anyway ...)

Anyway, as a parent three times over, any semblance of “no child of mine will ever (drink soda, watch TV, play video games, curse, only eat plain pasta, etc.)” has been taken out behind the shed and shot. I will allow my kids to do most anything that won’t get them killed or have DYFS knocking on my door if it will buy me a few moments of peace.

So the Coke: My oldest, 8, is a very healthy eater. Literally chooses fruits and vegetables over candy. So we’re not that particular with him now that he’s making some of his own food choices. At our pool, there’s a soda machine. The kid, apparently, has a weakness for Coke. He’s been smuggling loose change into the pool and buying $1.50 bottles of Coke, which A) is too expensive and B) causes my two other kids to whine and complain about how they’re not getting a Coke.

So of course, we instructed our 8-year-old that he was no longer allowed to buy Coke, and this is a directive he’s more or less ignored. He sneaks them. (I give him points for creativity on this score.) But he’s still throwing money away. On top of all this, I’ve started using “I’ll buy you a Coke” as a carrot to whatever stick I’m dangling.

All of this added up to a singular decision: My wife bought an 8-pack of mini-bottles. We brought them to the pool. Three were brought inside, one for each, including one for the aforementioned 3-year-old, who, it should be noted, enjoyed every sip. My 6-year-old, dazzled by her good fortune, nursed the thing for the entirety of the afternoon. My son, of course, downed his in seconds.

But you know what? Everyone was happy. No fights. A little sugar, a little caffeine, a little treat for the kids and I actually managed to read a few pages of that Kim Stanley Robinson novel while poolside. (“The Years of Rice and Salt,” for those wondering.)

So go ahead and judge me, fourth graders on up: I can take it. We had a great day. Until. Until I was packing up the back of the minivan and noticed there were only three mini-bottles left. Started with eight, they each had one, and …

“I didn’t know we couldn’t have more,” my son said, expecting me to believe it.

I couldn’t even work up the necessary amount of anger.

“Yeah,” I said, looking at him sideways. “I suppose I wasn’t specific.”

No reason to ruin a perfectly fine day.

But you know what? Everyone was happy. No fights. A little sugar, a little caffeine, a little treat for the kids and I actually managed to read a few pages of that Kim Stanley Robinson novel while poolside.