This Side Up

Boys are so predictable

By John Howell
Posted 7/5/16

My niece’s two-year-old son, Wynn, squirmed in his mother lap. Clearly, breakfast was over, although he had only eaten two chunks of watermelon and a spoonful of cottage cheese. He was on to bigger …

This item is available in full to subscribers.

Please log in to continue

E-mail
Password
Log in
This Side Up

Boys are so predictable

Posted

My niece’s two-year-old son, Wynn, squirmed in his mother lap. Clearly, breakfast was over, although he had only eaten two chunks of watermelon and a spoonful of cottage cheese. He was on to bigger things.

His gaze settled on plastic bag of screws and a stamped metal piece with several holes. They hadn’t been needed when the cylinder on the screen door was replaced.

“Ulools,” he said excitedly.

“That’s tools,” his mother said. “He loves tools.”

He wriggled out of her lap and now the rest of us gathered around the kitchen table waited to see what he’d do. Wynn is big for his age, but it was still a stretch for him to reach up and slide the “tools” to his grasp.

He climbed back to Christa’s lap once he had them.

He turned the metal piece, examining it. I expected he’d put it in his mouth, but he didn’t. It dropped, sliding across the linoleum floorings. He was down to retrieve it and then back in Christa’s lap.

He put it down next to a chunk of watermelon, turning his attention to the bag of screws. He pulled on the edges of the plastic and at any moment I thought the screws would come flying out. But no. He slid a finger into the bag and pulled out a single screw. Now it was back to the metal plate. He tried pushing the screw through one of the holes, quickly realizing it was too small. He went for another.

More screws spilled out of the bag. Wynn kept at his task.

The rest of us resumed the breakfast conversation, Wynn no longer the center of attention.

That didn’t bother him. He was watching his four-year-old sister fill a glass of ice from the refrigerator.

“Ice,” he said quite distinctly.

“He loves ice,” Christa said. I was beginning to wonder what Wynn didn’t like.

He was out of Christa’s lap and soon at the refrigerator. Ice clattered into his plastic cup and onto the floor. He went for the water next. It spilled out. Christa was up and pressed the off button. Now Wynn was really intrigued. He couldn’t reach the button, but he knew there was a connection between the abrupt stop in the flow of ice and water and what his mother had just done.

Christa grabbed a sponge from the sink, wiping up the puddle. Wynn focused on the button. That was his next objective.

He had a strategy. The high stool was in his sights. Christa knew what coming.

She looked for a diversion and reached for a ball he’d dropped earlier on the floor.

“Welcome to boys,” she said smiling.

Wynn let go of the high stool and disappeared into the pantry. He was back with a plastic bat. I was ready to break his swing before he sent plates smashing to the floor.

Christa wasn’t alarmed. She knew what to expect. She’d been here before.

“Outside,” she said in a commanding, yet understanding tone. Wynn put down the bat and in so doing spotted the radio, and yes, another button.

He stretched, standing on his tiptoes.

I didn’t know the piece, but my son, Ted, and Christa knew it immediately. The punk rock sound of Billy Idol filled the room with “Rebel Yell.” Christa started laughing, so did the rest of us.

Wynn was delighted with the reaction. He was playing to the crowd.

Wynn pulled up his shirt. We all kept laughing as the lyrics of the song – “with a rebel yell she cries more, more, more.”

And that was just the start of the July 4th weekend. More Wynn fireworks were sure to come from the guzzling of the smoothie mix of Cheerios and milk. It went down in one long interrupted swig. I fully expected a resounding burp as he wiped the white moustache from his lip on his forearm.

Christa was laughing again; she couldn’t get the image of her two-year-old now turned 20 as he swigged a beer with his colleagues out of her mind. The family had already been given a preview at Christmas. They were loading up the van when suddenly it started. Wynn was in the driver’s seat. He had found the keys where they had been left on the console.

Yes, Christa’s observation was on target.

Boys are a handful. Strange how they can make the future so predictable.

Comments

No comments on this item Please log in to comment by clicking here