The other day at the park my nephew
had a wreck. He was jumping off the side of the slide (because as any fool
knows slides are not just for sliding down) when he was sabotaged by a glitch
in coordination. It wasn’t a bad fall;
he only had a couple superficial scrapes to show for it. But there were a ton
of people around.
After we clean him up, he decides
he wants to do one more slide before we leave, but he chooses the smallest
slide and goes down halfheartedly, and it’s all very sad. On the way to our
next stop we discuss whether it still hurts, which he tells me it does not, and
whether he’s embarrassed which he also denies.
But he’s still tremendously sad.
Eventually it occurs to me that “embarrassed,”
may not be a word most people are familiar with when they’re three, so I ask
him if he’s sad because all those people saw him fall and he says, “yes.”
Now I’m pissed off at those people
for existing, because I feel like Z wouldn’t be upset right now if they didn’t,
and what right do they have to be wandering around the park with their eyes
anyway? On the other hand this is hideously unreasonable, and I’m really just
pissed off at myself for not catching him.
“It’s ok,” I say to him. “None of
those people were laughing at you. Everybody falls. I fall, and your mom and
dad fall, and Ben falls, and all those people at the park have fallen too, I
promise.”
Pointing out the misfortunes of
others is perhaps not the most inspiring method of comforting a child, but it’s
what came to mind. And still, he was bummed.
We get to the arts festival, but
only kind of, because we have to park far away. We start walking, well I start
walking, and I’m carrying a sad three year old, a heavy, sad three year old,
and I think the sadness is making him heavier than usual. When we finally get
there he doesn’t want to go in. He says he wants to sit. So we sit. On the curb
outside the arts festival.
He says, “Don’t look at me, please,”
and I oblige.
He picks up a rock. I ask him about the colors
in his rock. We discuss that for awhile.
So there we are, sitting on the
curb, not looking at each other, discussing rocks instead of feelings. It’s like
I’m participating in some kind of weird male bonding moment. I didn’t know
three year olds could have such man moments.
I texted his mom for backup. She
suggested an uplifting lesson on what the word “embarrassed,” means. That
sounded promising, he likes to learn new words. Like “evolution.” But embarrassed
is not a fun word to learn when you are.
He would seem better for a while
then get sad again. That happens to me too, but I get to drink. And if he was
twelve I would have offered him one.
It turned out that his arm is
sprained. When I found that out, I had a guilt headache for two days. But I’m
better now, and more importantly, so is he. Feel free to call me with
babysitting requests.
Oh poor little man! Also, this is a sweet and funny story. The end.
ReplyDeleteask my sister about the time I let her daughter bathe in a tub with my unattended razors (age 5), and then had to use a panty liner to cover the wound on her shin because I didn't have any band-aids. (Aunt of the year)
ReplyDeleteIt's been 24 years, and I still feel remorseful
That's fabulous. In a misery loves company kind of way. Thank you.
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