Twisted

penguin room at the zoo. You said we could go there soon. And if you have to go to the lake, I mean really have to, we could go to Central Park instead and go rowing like we did that time. Remember?”
    Alex shivered in mock disgust. “What sorts of fishdo you think I’d catch there ? Icky fish with three eyes and scales that glow in the dark.”
    “You don’t have to go fishing. We could just row around and feed the ducks.”
    He looked out the window at the dim, gray horizon of New Jersey across the Hudson River. The whole state seemed asleep. And probably was.
    “Please, Daddy? Stay home with us.”
    “We played all day yesterday,” he pointed out, as if this would convince her that she could do without him today. He was, of course, aware that children’s logic and adults’ bore no resemblance to each other; still, he continued. “We went to FAO Schwarz and Rockefeller Center and I bought you two, count ’em, two hot dogs from Henri’s à côté du subway. And then Rumplemeyer’s.”
    “But that was yesterday !”
    Youngsters’ logic, Alex decided, was by far the most compelling.
    “And what did you eat at Rumpelstiltskin’s?”
    When logic failed, he was not above diversion.
    The eight-year-old tugged at her nightgown. “Banana split.”
    “You did?” He looked shocked. “No!”
    “Did too, and you know it. You were there.”
    “How big was it?”
    “You know!”
    “I know nothing, I remember nothing,” he said in a thick German accent.
    “Thisssss big.” She held her hands far apart.
    Alex said, “Impossible. You would’ve blown up like a balloon. Pop!” And she broke into giggles under his tickling fingers.
    “Up and at ’em,” he announced. “Breakfast together before I leave.”
    “Daddy,” she persisted. But Alex escaped from her room.
    He assembled his fishing tackle, stacked it by the door and walked into the kitchen. Kissed Sue on the back of the neck and slipped his arms around her as she flipped pancakes in the skillet.
    Pouring orange juice for the three of them, Alex said, “She doesn’t want me to go today. She’s never complained before.”
    For the last year he’d taken off a day or two every month to go fishing in the countryside around New York City.
    His wife stacked the pancakes on a plate and set them in the oven to warm. Then she glanced down the hall where their daughter, in her purple Barney slippers, wandered sleepily into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
    “Jessie was watching the tube the other night,” Sue said. “I was finishing up some homework and wasn’t paying attention. Next thing I knew she ran out of the room crying. I didn’t see the program but I looked it up in TV Guide. It was some made-for-TV movie about a father who was kidnapped and held hostage. The kidnapper killed him and then came after his wife and daughter. I think there were some pretty graphic scenes. I talked to her about it but she was pretty upset.”
    Alex nodded slowly. He’d grown up watching horror flicks and shoot-’em-up westerns; in fact he’d found Saturday matinees a sanctuary from his abusive, temperamental father. As an adult he’d neverthought twice about violence in films or on TV—until he became a father himself. Then he immediately began censoring what Jessica watched. He didn’t mind that she knew death and aggression existed; it was the gratuitous, overtly gruesome carnage lacing popular shows that he wanted to keep from her.
    “She’s afraid I’m going to get kidnapped while I’m fishing?”
    “She’s eight. It’s a big bad world out there.”
    It was so difficult with children, he reflected. Teaching them to be cautious of strangers, aware of real threats, but not making them so scared of life they couldn’t function. Learning the difference between reality and make-believe could be tough for adults, let alone youngsters.
    Five minutes later the family was sitting around the table, Alex and Sue flipping through the Sunday Times, reading portions of stories that seemed interesting. Jessica, accompanied by Raoul, a stuffed bear, methodically ate first her bacon, then her pancakes and finally a bowl of cereal.
    The girl pretended to feed Raoul a spoonful of cereal and asked thoughtfully, “Why do you like to fish, Daddy?”
    “It’s relaxing.”
    “Oh.” The bits of cereal were in the shape of some cartoon creatures. Ninja Turtles, Alex thought.
    “Your father needs some time off. You know how hard he works.”
    As the