Change My Boys Name
Some would say that I was just a usual son always willing to test the limits of patience, or having fun that would make big people shrink. Could this be? Maybe all these little boy things is why my Mother complained that I was the cause of her rapid ageing and grey hair. But, really, honestly, what did I do?
Could my Mother have meant my little accident on our sloping sidewalk in front of the house, the sidewalk that had a big piece of pavement missing right in the middle? There was so much pleasure to be had zooming down the sloping sidewalk. Well, it was a great day as I zoomed ever faster down the slope with the wind gently caressing my face, with arms held out straight, no hands, and paddling like an evil demon. It was fantastic flying through the air as I hit that hole. But, while flying was exhilarating, the landing was horrible especially since I landed ungracefully upon my tiny chin hurtling in continuing circles before coming to an abrupt stop. Those recollections are still vividly clear to this day. While stretched unceremoniously upon the kitchen table being stitched up by the local doctor, and without the benefit of modern day local freezing. I wonder if this was the kind of graying and ageing moment mom meant. She use to have a book with a collection of what she called her quotes about babies. This particular day she quoted to the family physician, “Children are a handful sometimes, a heart full all the time.”
Or, was it that time that I was cycling down the neighborhood hill merrily on my way to the school picnic riding with no hands, peddling like crazy? I know I could zoom through the only intersection at the bottom of the hill in spite of the stop sign. After all, this was my day; this was my moment of glee without a care in the world with little regards for traffic that was almost always nonexistent in this my little village. What a piece of work that guy was for sticking his passenger door right in front of my front wheel in order to abruptly stop my momentum. I didn’t ask him to pick me up from the ground, nor did I ask him to follow me home as I gently guided my bent bicycle. Nor did I ask him to relate to my Mother all the vivid details and his concern that he could have really hurt me. So what’s the big deal mom; I’m still in one piece although slightly bruised and sore. I wonder if that is why she used to say that she picked the wrong baby name for me?
On the other hand, maybe it was when I rocketed up the centre hall stairs maneuvering my thrashing legs around the landing on my way to my upstairs bedroom to play. So, who was the culprit that left the stepladder there so it could come crashing down on my head. Really Mom; it only hurt a bit despite the extra hole in my head and a gush of blood. Mom, you do realize, of course, that it is natural to take a few bangs and bruises as they develop their avoidance skills, don’t you?
I really think my Mom made it all up just to justify the graying hair and the many wrinkles. I didn’t do anything; I was just a normal, playful, happy, good little boy. And, besides, I also had siblings who probably did a lot more to cause parental stress than me, right mom?
Years later, when I had my first baby boy, my Mother gave me what she called a message for a new baby, which at the time I really didn’t understand. Her message was “what goes around, comes around”. Thanks Mum, I now get it!
