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Against the nagging whine of our better judgement, Andrea and I took Thomas to a monster truck show last night. If you would have told me in 1995 that I would be taking my son to see monster trucks in 2010, I first would have been disappointed that I wasn’t due to be holed up writing aphorisms in a room full of Gauloises and fountain pens. Immediately thereafter, though, I would have laughed to the point of nausea, called you a submoron, and then gone back to feeling superior in that way that becomes largely impossible after one has children, real property, or a job with responsibilities.

The first thing to understand about the monster truck show is that, at least in small venues like the Alliant Energy Center Coliseum in Madison, it is essentially a rodeo with about 50% less abject nationalism and about 85% less action. (There is even a “motorsports clown” to serve as the target of meanspirited and woefully kid–unfriendly japery at the hands of the announcer. I wish I were making this up.) You will, in essence, be watching the same six monster trucks crush and jump over the same row of five cars for about three hours. If that sounds thrilling then you should bear in mind that, unlike the majestic animals of the rodeo, monster trucks have to be backed in to their parking spaces.

I estimate that I spent approximately 75 minutes watching drivers realign their vehicles before backing in to their spaces, which — when one considers the clowning, intermission, breaks for cannon- and slingshot-based t-shirt distribution, and an underwhelming side attraction involving tepid stunts on sportbikes performed by the sort of “bros” who might aspire to appear in spray deodorant ads — leaves precious little time for car smashing, wheelies, &c. The actual repetitive car–smashing and jumping action was performed under the conceit of nominally different “events” whose results were ostensibly decided by audience applause levels, although I had the impression that the whole proceedings were at least as fixed as the 2010 NFC Championship Game.

However, while Andrea and I were practically crippled with boredom after the first few minutes, Thomas was attentive and delighted for the duration of the event — and getting to see near-comic levels of childlike glee absolutely made the experience for us. I might even be willing to go again some day. Really, who would have guessed that a young boy would love seeing large trucks perform the same stunts over and over again?¹ I was shocked.

¹ Except for (1) the myriad publishers who have made “repetitive actions involving large trucks” into a completely saturated yet lucrative children’s video genre and (2) anyone who has ever observed young children playing with or watching trucks, that is.