Um.... yeah.

"You're talking about Nietzsche because of an animated movie made for children?!?!"

Charity stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips, staring at us.

"Um... yeah." I said.

"We're cleaning out the fishtank too." Dad added, helpfully.

The Incredibles again. Dad and I duked out Egalitarianism, Ayn Rand, Objectivism, Nietzsche, and Nihilism. We took a break from fishtank-scrubbing to peer at Google screens and blog articles.

"Hey Dad, these Objectivists are mostly happy with the movie."

"Yeah, but do you see this? Egalitarians are screaming their heads off."

"I still think that Ayn Rand is just glorifying an aspect of Nietzsche, Dad."

"Okay, Chris, one more time. If A, then B. What's the 'A' again?"

"The 'A' is: 'If there are extraordinary people.' The 'B' is: 'Then they have their own moral standard.' I'm only arguing that Incredibles admits 'A.' They're one step away from Nietzsche, not arrived at Nietzsche."

"Well, Honey, ignoring excellence is as bad as worshipping it."

"True, but I want to know what the cultural implications of this movie will be."

"I think that it very appropriately and very effectively takes a whack at the 'everybody is special' cult."

"But Dad, where does that leave all the 'ordinary' folks? Apart from Christ, they are reduced to simply 'yeah, some people are more special than others, and you're in the less special category, and you can't get out of it. Sorry.' They're gonna get frustrated, and..."

"Grab the other end of this tank, would you Sweetie?"

"Sure." I grabbed. "This is heavy!"

"Yep. Swing it around this way a little..."

"And smelly!"

He grinned like an otter. "Housebaby."

"HEY!"

He knows perfectly well that I, who scorned dares and defied peer pressure all through high school, have a weakness. I can't stand the Somerville term equivalent to "incompetent" + "quitter" + "wimp."

I returned to the subject of our discussion. "I never scoped Ayn Rand and Objectivism, Dad. I mean, I knew of her, and I've done the skimmy on Atlas Shrugged..."

"Yeah, me neither." He said, tilting mucky water out of the fishtank. "It's a glitch for sure, but I never took her seriously."

I privately vowed to deal with the glitch. Ayn Rand is in the library, after all. What else are libraries for?

"Everybody mocks the 'we are all special' cult, Dad. That dog won't hunt no more. What I'm afraid of is that people will recognize this problem and the need to distinguish among persons, but will, being sinful, develop the worst possible criteria for their distinguere... who knows, maybe as bad as Hitler and Nietzsche. Only Christians have the 'one body but many members.' Apart from salvation, why not the superman and the cellar rat?"

"It's a childrens' movie, Honey."

Translation: calm down, kiddo.

I sighed. "This is very complicated, Daddy. We have the culture of the last generation, plus Nietzsche, plus Ayn Rand, plus Postmodernism..."

Dad laughed. "Welcome to the real world, Chris."

I smiled, remembering that the cares of the world don't rest on my shoulders. And anyway, they called Pharaohs and Caesars 'gods'. It wasn't as if we were dealing with something new. I picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the multicolored fishtank gravel, now boiling in its pot on the stove. Sterilizing, no doubt. "When will these be done, Dad?"

He had his back to me at the sink, but I could hear the mischevious smile. "Oh, I figured we'd serve them when they get nice and tender."

"Rocks, tender? Um....yeah."

There is nothing new under the sun, my dear.... and every evil has its answer. Rest easy.