GAYS MILLS - When my little brother was a young lad, he was known for is absurd story telling. On his first day of kindergarten, when my mom asked him if he made any friends, he triumphantly announced “YES!” When my mom decided to inquire further about these new pals, Patrick casually told my mom their names were “HAM!” and “CABBAGE!”
Being in the news business in the current political climate, I try to keep my storytelling as factual as possible. Yet, I must admit that when I read some of the headlines from the Onion, I do wish my job involved writing a little more satire.
However, it seems, my son Thatcher has picked up the family business of funny storytelling.
“Ma! Did you know yestaday ma that a HUGE purple eagle pooped on your car! That POOP–that poop right there! It’s from a HUGE PURPLE EAGLE, or maybe it was a orange morning dove. Yeah, I think it is. That’s right ma!”
“Ma! Do you see all of those mountains (referring to the rolling hills of the Driftless)- we were walking through the smoke, me and a TIGER MAW MAW! And we climbed a tree maw maw and we fell OUT! Into the MUD! And we were STUCK maw maw! Papa (Thatcher’s Grandpa Tom) had to come and save us! He pulled us out and then he gave the tiger MEAN EYES mama! And he HIT that tiger with a POPSICLE! a Orange and YELLOW popsicle mama!!”
There was immediately an alternate ending, where Thatcher’s Grandma Janey, proceeds to fish the tiger out of the mud and whack it with a stick.
“Ma! There is something GORGEOUS in the tree, right outside of our window MA! It dazzled me! IT’S GORGEOUS!” but upon inquiring about this fantastical thing, he replied simply “a cardinal mom, just a mama cardinal.”
Sometimes, Thatcher’s stories aren’t directed at me, rather, he’s just talking to himself, or often times, his baby brother.
We are so very fortunate that the boys seem to love each other.
One day while driving in the car, I heard a shriek of laughter, which was so intense at first I thought it was a cry. Then, the waves of laughs continued to come and I started to listen to what Thatcher was singing to his little brother.
“Pop-torn pop-torn pop it outside MAN! And hit it with a tickle!” -Apparently Waylon has the same strange sense of humor as the rest of us.
I often get told I should write what he said to me down in his baby book, so I’ve started to try and keep track. One I recently skipped in the baby book however was when he came up and patted my belly and said “I love ya big feller, I love you so much. You’re as BIG AS CAN BE FELLER!” or when he said “Knock knock! There’s a bird feeder in my butt!”
The kid doesn’t reserve his oddball humor just for stories however. For the longest time, he preferred to go by the name Rockman T. Rex and Spiderman. Lately, he has preferred being called Mama and I am now Thatcher. Because, I guess that’s what you do when you’re three. This usually only comes up between the endless rounds of Jingle Bells Batman Smells. Which, he has created his own verse to end it that goes “all the way to ho ho town!”
You spend so much time watching your kid go from this little squealing potato that barely moves around and hardly communicates to something telling you, and believing with everything he’s got that there is a eagle that carries my car to daycare, that also lives under his bed and sometimes uses our shower. It’s too bad we all have to grow up and start adulting, because living in a three-year-old fantasy world really does sound like a lot more fun.
