It's the little things in life that really matter. I know what you're thinking - Oh great! Another sappy narrative celebrating the joy that is 'children' from another self-absorbed parent that just can't help but share his delightful family anecdotes. I guess its true. Long ago my writing became an example of one of those Norman-Rockwell-type adults who do nothing but write cutesy stories about the wonders of parenting that are pleasant at first, but become stomach-turning quickly, and feel like the exploitation of children. In my defense, there are seven of them. They're hard to overlook. And I guess they have become a very large part of my identity. *Sigh*. But I still know myself, even as heavily influenced as I am by the kids.
I was sitting in a trendy coffee shop in downtown Victoria, sipping a ludicrously overpriced hot chocolate. It is not my normal modus operandi to frequent such hipster-doofus venues but it was timely. Jennifer was long gone, Marianne was yet to arrive, and Amy came and went like a housefly with attention-deficit disorder. I was in a state of maintenance. I was floating. And there I was on the patio of a sidewalk cafe.
A disturbance at the next table pulled me out of my mesmerized catatonia and my attention lulled sideways. A poor mother was suffering to keep her infant child quiet while her toddler darted off in every dangerous direction. Now, it is not my usual practice to get involved. I really didn't give a shit, but, ah, what the hell. I leaned over to the energetic child and whispered, "Pssssst... Hey Kiddo. Wanna see a paper trick?" His eyes brightened with excitement and he glanced towards his mother for the requisite permission to humour the strange man. She was in no mood to be defensive and shrugged in ambivalent compliance. I reached over to their table and equipped myself with a sugar packet. I tore open the top just slightly, and with a wink and a finger to my lips (gesturing 'ssshhhh'), I covertly poured the contents into the black decaf the smarmy debutante socialite at the adjacent table had been foolish enough to leave unattended during her visit to the lavatory. The kid giggled in gleeful and mischievous secrecy. I then flattened the paper packet and folded it into a little frog, an origami trick I had learned from a childhood activity book called Paper Capers, and which I had used as a demonstration of task-based language activities in countless TESL classes. Having started with such a small scrap of paper resulted in the tiniest little paper frog, but it still hopped when pressed just right, and the child was simply elated. I smiled at him and handed it over. He toddled off to his table and played in quiet fascination with the new toy. I noticed the baby had stopped crying, and the mother looked at me dumbfounded and incredulous. After a few moments she regained her verbal acuity and said, "Thank you. What are you - some kind of saint or something?" I chuckled at the irony. "I'll have to go with "or something"." I walked out of the cafe flattered and smiling.
When Marianne and I first started dating, we visited all of the typical array of venues that fledgling couples do. I found myself in a movie theatre waiting for the movie to start and with Marianne looking bored. Considering the charm my little frog had cast upon me via the anonymous mother, I figured I would try my hand at recreating a similar scenario with Marianne in the hope of earning some romance points. Having nothing but the paper reciept from our movie tickets handy, I gently folded it into another tiny frog and delicately placed it on my knee in the hush of the theatre to get her attention. She glanced over and giggled. It had worked, and I expected her to play with it a little before it was lost to the candy/condiment-infected floor. But Marianne collects and catalogues happy memories. Apparently their experience is an only slightly relevant precursor to their value in recall and memento. The moment was touching and with calculated immediacy, she smiled, reached over, swept her hand across my leg collecting the small frog, folded it flat and tucked it away into some sacred compartment of her purse. Done and done - efficiently acquired, catalogued, and filed for future demonstration to boyfriend-competitive girlfriends. Truly, the woman was every inch a legal secretary. I couldn't but chuckle at her organized approach to romance. At least it had charmed her too.
The third time I found myself bound to entertain with only limited resources at hand came just yesterday. Lilian was sitting in the middle of the living room floor where Marianne had been folding laundry. I sat before her and engaged her in some light baby babble. That excitement lasted only briefly before she started getting fussy, but no-one was about to watch her while I retrieved some toys or other to entertain her. Megan came in and handed me some unmatched socks she didn't know where to put. I slid one over each hand and invented Mr. and Mrs. Sock Puppet, complete with distinctive character voices and began making up some trivial dialogue between them aimed at Lily. Her face brightened and she released one of her characteristic little giggles. I proceeded with the show, and before long found that all of the kids had slowly gathered around me. Really!? It's amazing! With all of the video games, television, food, and other expensive choices surrounding them, for once, a mere sock puppet had won the entertainment of the day. I continued the show as long as I could but I was really just making up platitudes. It couldn't last forever and it didn't. Marianne scooped up the baby for some necessary ritual, the show ended, and the kids dispersed. But rest assured, equipped with only a curious child, and whatever else lies within arm's reach, there is a world of laughter to be discovered.
See you in hell,
Shakes.
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