Howdy,
Yesterday I wrote that I had something “today,” but its composition grew, so with a tease I kept it for “tomorrow,” and now today we have something from yesterday that refers to “today.” I hope that in this moment you enjoy, as this moment is all we have … Right? But that doesn’t even really make sense. What about memories? What about hope? The past? Eternity? Oh, man, this got complicated. To get back to the topic, I now present to you yesterday’s today …
Today I can give you the developmental thinking and growing will and desire of a three year old child, on the authority of “studying” or—better, after the previous post from Wednesday—listening to one Titus Shalom Hawes, who by the way became a three-and-a-half-year-old yesterday, but I realized today that in the continuous going of Thursday we forgot to mention to Ti then that it was the date of his turning 3.5, even though we’ve had it marked on the year in a glance calendar for quite some time now. (Not that we typically make too much of half-birthdays anyway, mostly just a simple acknowledgement, which is kind of fun. A person Ti’s age, though, certainly enjoys the knowledge and recognition.)
The ways, wills, and words of a three-year-old can go like this—as Ti’s did today at the pool: “No, I want to do it myself. Can you hold it for me?”
Now, grammatically, that utterance can be two or even three sentences depending on what you do with the “No,” so might have read a nice spaced-out statement, like: “No. I want to do it myself. Can you hold it for me?”
But that whole comment was one. “No I want to do it myself, can you hold it for me.”
I was debating on a semicolon or a dash for after “myself” before going with a comma, and ditched the question mark for really nothing, employing the period only to cap the quote.” It should probably read more like, “No I want to do it myself can you hold it for me”
Or, “No, myself, you for me.”
That’s more the essence. That last one.
So here was the scenario. Big brother, Jasper William, was “riding” his oversized kick board down the submerged pool steps—actually getting a few good rides, I must say, as a little practice went a long way in this new, adventurous activity; his form got better, looking more like a surfer or skateboarder, really—so, younger brother, Titus Shalom, wanted to hop aboard his board and surf the descending underwater steps, too. (That’s a key word with younger brothers: too. Also. Likewise. And Like & As. I guess I’m seeing that little brothers are like similes, since they observe and then copy quick as a cat.)
Well, I left the word equally out of my list of too, also, and likewise, because little bros. don’t always perform their simile just the same right away.
Ti tried. He wanted to catch that dangerous concrete wave. (Yes, grandmothers, and otherwise concerned adults, if it will help set you minds at ease even a little, I do know that this and likewise behavior is dangerous—or can be.) Yes, Ti wanted to do it—like Jasper was doing it. And Riah will want to do it, too; I know it: I can see it in his eyes, as he watches those Hawes boys like a hawk.
We have boys—those adventurous, courages, sometimes momentarily mindless, wild thing daredevils by make and trade. Oh, yeah. (I can hear my friend, Jeremiah, encouraging his kids to “JUMP,” to “GO FOR IT!” And, along with his boys, his girls are going to keep up with the boys around, too.)
So Ti tried. But he wasn’t getting much of a ride after a first few attempts, so he sidled up to me and asked me to hold his board in place as he set himself for takeoff. A time or two of that and he seemed to think he had it mastered; thus, it was “No I want to do it myself, can you hold it for me.”
Um, sure. “Go for it!”
A dad with a discreet handle on the situation, silently and secretly holding things in place as much as possible while also granting freedom and courage with a “JUMP!” or a “GO FOR IT!”
Hands-off hands held close and ready for the special moments when the “No, I want to do it myself” ends with “can you hold it for me?”
(Grandfathers, and otherwise concerned adults out there, don’t worry, if the adventurous spirit contains the tail of a conditional question for too long into their lifetimes, I’ll push them into the pool.) But, it seems, Sarah and I have pretty good cannonballers.
Word of the summer when Ti was two: “CANNONBALL!”
The boys was a metaphor back then.
I imagine that he and his brothers will be many things. Metaphors, similes, imaginatives, disciples, adventurers, heroes and villains, creatives, rock and rollers, dancers, divers, readers, dreamers, and—among myriads of additional shiftings, doings, and beings—crazy, courageous, daredevil brothers, boys built to be wild, if anything.
Oh, boy.
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
Word Count: 153,382 / On Pace: 157,300 / Year’s Goal: 200,000
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