The Evolution of A Boy
All about:
birthday,
milestones,
Woog
He was quiet when he woke up this morning, barely saying two words to anyone. He was pensive at the breakfast table, as well, seemingly deep in thought.
Maybe having a birthday does that to you. You feel like something should be happening at such a momentous occasion. Maybe the sound of your bones growing, or the skin of your face taking a different shape, or maybe even the sudden blossoming of wondrous insights inside your skull at the stroke of your birth hour.
But he had just turned 6, after all. And the changes he might have been expecting were still a long way off into the future. Far far away. In forty or so years, his growing paunch will tell him. And so will his aching back, his cynical thoughts, and thousands of strands of no-hair.
But for now, he is just a little boy who has just turned 6. And 6 is the exact same age to ask his mother at the breakfast table, "when are you going to evolve into an old woman, Mom?"
In the olden days, if I asked such a question, my father would have delivered a brisk clip to the side of my head and commanded me to stop spouting such nonsense. But I recognized the little girl that I used to be in his odd query. Perhaps he was wondering how long it took to become an adult. And I fancied his maturing mind was trying to grasp the concept of age.
Suddenly, he said, "Pokemon can evolve."
I was flummoxed. Is the generation gap too wide a chasm for me to cross? It seems I have lost my son in translation.
I was quiet for a bit more while I tried to analyze his question from every angle. But Woog's mouth won battle of supremacy against silence and emerged victorious. Suddenly, words burst out of his mouth at a mile per minute, shattering the morning calm with the enumeration of various Pokemon monsters he has observed to have, at one time or another, evolved on national television.
I laughed with him, relieved that he'd found himself again. Stay yourself a while longer, I said to him in my head, you have years and years and years and years.
After breakfast, we granted his birthday wish to spend the day at my parents' house. Later, when we picked him up, we learned he had helped his aunts set up an impromptu garage sale in the front yard and earned himself some money for convincing an old lady to buy a beat-up toy car.
The lady had asked him what on earth he was planning to do with ten pesos, and Woog, who has never had an allowance in his life, told her he was going to buy bubblegum. "Pleeeeeeease," he begged. She relented and haggled him down to five.
And so he has five pesos for birthday money. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Our spawn might turn out to be the world's greatest salesman. Fancy that kind of evolution. I just hope he doesn't sell us out of house and home.
Maybe having a birthday does that to you. You feel like something should be happening at such a momentous occasion. Maybe the sound of your bones growing, or the skin of your face taking a different shape, or maybe even the sudden blossoming of wondrous insights inside your skull at the stroke of your birth hour.
But he had just turned 6, after all. And the changes he might have been expecting were still a long way off into the future. Far far away. In forty or so years, his growing paunch will tell him. And so will his aching back, his cynical thoughts, and thousands of strands of no-hair.
But for now, he is just a little boy who has just turned 6. And 6 is the exact same age to ask his mother at the breakfast table, "when are you going to evolve into an old woman, Mom?"
In the olden days, if I asked such a question, my father would have delivered a brisk clip to the side of my head and commanded me to stop spouting such nonsense. But I recognized the little girl that I used to be in his odd query. Perhaps he was wondering how long it took to become an adult. And I fancied his maturing mind was trying to grasp the concept of age.
Suddenly, he said, "Pokemon can evolve."
I was flummoxed. Is the generation gap too wide a chasm for me to cross? It seems I have lost my son in translation.
I was quiet for a bit more while I tried to analyze his question from every angle. But Woog's mouth won battle of supremacy against silence and emerged victorious. Suddenly, words burst out of his mouth at a mile per minute, shattering the morning calm with the enumeration of various Pokemon monsters he has observed to have, at one time or another, evolved on national television.
I laughed with him, relieved that he'd found himself again. Stay yourself a while longer, I said to him in my head, you have years and years and years and years.
After breakfast, we granted his birthday wish to spend the day at my parents' house. Later, when we picked him up, we learned he had helped his aunts set up an impromptu garage sale in the front yard and earned himself some money for convincing an old lady to buy a beat-up toy car.
The lady had asked him what on earth he was planning to do with ten pesos, and Woog, who has never had an allowance in his life, told her he was going to buy bubblegum. "Pleeeeeeease," he begged. She relented and haggled him down to five.
And so he has five pesos for birthday money. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Our spawn might turn out to be the world's greatest salesman. Fancy that kind of evolution. I just hope he doesn't sell us out of house and home.
Happy birthday, Woogie!
2 comments:
Happy Birthday not so small man!
Again, wonderfully written.
The idea of a 6 year old have never had an allowance is almost extinct on my side of the planet, it brought me back to Ireland when I would have been his age, and pocket money was also unheard of.
I'd love to hear more about that type of thing, the everyday stuff.
Wonderful post, as always. He's such a cutie...I love that photo. It's been a long time since I've read your blog, too...glad to be back.
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