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I brake for babies, the unsung wonders of our world.
Recently I saw a baby girl in a stroller, about a year old, though tiny and small-boned for her age. As her mother pushed the stroller quickly over the bumpy sidewalk, this little adventurer sat on the edge of the stroller seat, with her legs and arms stretched out in front of her. She was deliberately balancing herself—"look Ma, no hands"—on the seat as the stroller jostled her. She was expanding her world, a big smile on her face, taking on the risk of tipping over or falling. She was delighted with herself! Her mother knew nothing of all this, since the stroller's collapsible awning hid the baby from her view. But what a merry chase that baby is going to lead her mother—from the first running-away the minute she can run, to her solo trip to
A moment later I saw a daddy walking his 18-month-old son to the park. Daddy was walking on the sidewalk. The toddler, bundled up in a bright coat and with sturdy shoes supporting him, was about eight feet from his father, walking along the slope of the rise that bordered the sidewalk. As they neared the park, the rise went even higher and the little guy unhesitatingly moved toward the rise. He didn't ask for help, and he also didn't say, "Daddy, I'm going this way" (or whatever version of those words he might have been able to manage). He just went off on his own, solidly exploring life away from his parent. Another adventurer.
I must point out, however, that the whole time they were in my sight, Daddy made no attempt to communicate with his son. Perhaps he was in a rare bad mood. I hope so. I hope that what I saw was not typical of their relationship.
I asked my own, grown son once if he had any new Sam stories since I'd last seen Sam, who was in the Terrible Twos at the time. He said, "There probably are some, but it's hard to think of them in the midst of his mischief-making." And then he told me this story:
Sam had refused to take a nap. No nap. There's a disaster in the making. By
I do need to preface this by saying that humor is a big part of our lives. My son loves to do and say funny things. Even at two, Sam "gets" jokes and teasings and is aware of the importance of humor around the house.
So he comes to the kitchen and says, "Daddy, come see! Come see what I did! It's really funny!"
Cautious, my son asks, "Am I going to like this, Sam?"
Sam says, "Oh yes, Daddy! You'll like it! You'll like it because it's funny! It's really funny! Come to the dining room and see. It's really funny!" (And yes, Sam did talk like this at two and a half.)
So my son follows Sam into the dining room, where Sam points proudly to the dining room table, now totally covered with salt, and says, "See, Daddy? See how funny it is?"
Look at the nuances of this interchange. Sam knew that what he had done was not going to be considered appropriate behaviour, so he tried to pull his father into the humor of the situation right off the bat. Since he couldn't put the salt back into the box and hide his actions, he knew that humor was the best approach to take. If he could just convince his father (and perhaps himself) that the whole thing was hilarious, then perhaps the naughtiness of it (a concept he also understood very well) might be ignored.
Sam's father didn't think it was very funny. I do, but I didn't have to clean up the salt.
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