Good morning, my favorite people on the internets. Today is a very special day. Not only are we on another date that doubles as a Boeing aircraft, but my nephew Shawn turns the big 0-2 today. This immediately propels him to the top of the Cutest 2 Year-Olds of All Time list, ending my 27 or 28 year reign. I don't do math, people. My lovely wife and I have the distinct honor of watching the Shawny Man all day this Saturday and into Sunday morning. We're very excited and just a little nervous. Any tips on how to keep a two year-old's attention? I can only make so many faces and noises.
In honor of Shawn's birthday, I shall tell a story that I've been holding back for the right time. I believe this is it, because the segue is natural. Watch this: Speaking of babysitting, I did my fair share of it during my teenage years. (Booyah Johnson!) The kid I sat for most often lived just a block and a half away from my parents' house, and I sat for him when I was 14-16 and he was probably 8-10 (like my readership numbers). For the purpose of this post, we'll call him "Owen."
Owen went to a highly gifted magnet for school, which isn't a problem in and of itself. However, it seemed that he was conditioned at a young age to think he knew everything because of this fact. For example, he once said that something wasn't "dramatically correct." I gently told him what the right phrase was, but he wouldn't have any of it. "No," he said matter-of-factly. "If someone says something wrong, they weren't being dramatically correct." I pleaded my case, but he wouldn't budge. Meanwhile, I was the teenager; I was supposed to be the one who knew everything. It was infuriating.
Much more frustrating though was the fact that this kid was actually really smart with many things. We'd play Connect 4 fairly often, and I'm pretty sure it was something he was born to do. The best I ever did against him was win six games out of ten, and it pissed me off. Usually I'd win about three. I remember one time when I put one of the plastic discs in and he said, "Come on, you're doing that on purpose to let me win." Man that pissed me off.
A lot of our time together was spent playing games. I think that was mainly because he wasn't very athletic. I played handball with him once, and it was evident that he wasn't scoring digits on the playground with his Slicies or Dead Killers. So we played games instead. Often we'd have MTV on in the background of our games. I remember once when "Lithium" by Nirvana came on (yes, MTV played videos back then), Owen immediately reached for the remote and said, "I'm not allowed to listen to this." "Why?" I asked. "Because he says, 'I'm gonna go smoke crack' in the song and my mom doesn't think I should hear him say that." That was funny to me for two reasons. First, if he already knew what something said, was re-hearing it that big a deal? Second, that wasn't the line of the song. It was actually "I'm not gonna crack," and the song's title was in reference to the mood-stabilizer some take to avoid the cracking process.
Another game we'd play was Boggle, or at least his version of it. I wasn't allowed to use any words that he didn't know. That came in handy whenever I had a particularly good word and he conveniently had never heard of it. Oh yeah, he was allowed to use 2-letter words too. I know I shouldn't be competitive in such situations, but this was bullshit. He'd write down any two- or three-letter combinations he could see, then (per his rules) check the dictionary after to see if they were words or not. A lot of them were, unbeknownst to him. (Some were beknownst to me, of course.) Therein lied the rub: I couldn't use words he didn't know, but he could stumble upon as many words as he could write down. I still won most of the time, though he quit partway through several of the games.
There was one part of each babysitting adventure with him though that really, really stood out. The first time I was there late enough that he was going to bed, we went up to his room and I started to say goodnight. I turned toward the door and in a slightly-panicky voice, Owen called out, "Wait! You have to tell me my day!" Hold on, I'm switching to dialogue mode here.
Owen: Wait! You have to tell me my day!
Me: What?
O: (a little more panicky) You have to tell me my day! My mom didn't tell you?
Me: No, she didn't. What do you want me to do?
O: You have to tell me everything that happened today. Or I won't be relaxed enough to fall asleep!
Me: You want me to go through my day and tell you-
O: No! MY day!
Me: But I don't know what you did today!
O: That's why I tell you first!
Me: (taking a breath before speaking) Ok, so you tell me what you did today, and then I repeat it back to you. Did I get that right?
I did have that right. He then walked me through his day at school, including some stuff about his friends, what he ate, etc. until the part that I got to the house. Dutifully, I repeated it all back to him. "Was that ok?" I asked. "Yeah," he said, sounding a little disappointed, "But you left out a little. You'll do better next time." I'm telling you, this kid was a piece of work.
Every time I sat for him from that point on, I told him his day. He'd get in bed, tell me everything he did, and I'd repeat it back to him. Sometimes I'd add things that didn't happen just to see if he'd freak out, but he'd usually just interrupt me and remind me that to stick to the facts.
He's probably about 24 now, and I wonder if he ever got over that need. If not, did he have his roommate in college tell him his day? Did he tape record himself and then play it back through headphones? Did he ever wake up the drunk chick next to him and say, "Sorry to bother you, but I need you to do something for me before you pass out," or something to that effect? Ah, the questions I'd be holding back if I ever ran into him again.
So, gentle readers, that's the story I've been waiting to tell for a while. I have a few more that have been on my "list of things to write about some day," and those are all coming up as fewer ideas pop into my head. You can help, of course, by writing to ptklein@gmail.com. It's fun, easy, and free. How cool is that? Have a great day everyone, and let me know if you need me to repeat it back to you. I have way too much experience in that field. Happy Birthday Shawn!
In honor of Shawn's birthday, I shall tell a story that I've been holding back for the right time. I believe this is it, because the segue is natural. Watch this: Speaking of babysitting, I did my fair share of it during my teenage years. (Booyah Johnson!) The kid I sat for most often lived just a block and a half away from my parents' house, and I sat for him when I was 14-16 and he was probably 8-10 (like my readership numbers). For the purpose of this post, we'll call him "Owen."
Owen went to a highly gifted magnet for school, which isn't a problem in and of itself. However, it seemed that he was conditioned at a young age to think he knew everything because of this fact. For example, he once said that something wasn't "dramatically correct." I gently told him what the right phrase was, but he wouldn't have any of it. "No," he said matter-of-factly. "If someone says something wrong, they weren't being dramatically correct." I pleaded my case, but he wouldn't budge. Meanwhile, I was the teenager; I was supposed to be the one who knew everything. It was infuriating.
Much more frustrating though was the fact that this kid was actually really smart with many things. We'd play Connect 4 fairly often, and I'm pretty sure it was something he was born to do. The best I ever did against him was win six games out of ten, and it pissed me off. Usually I'd win about three. I remember one time when I put one of the plastic discs in and he said, "Come on, you're doing that on purpose to let me win." Man that pissed me off.
A lot of our time together was spent playing games. I think that was mainly because he wasn't very athletic. I played handball with him once, and it was evident that he wasn't scoring digits on the playground with his Slicies or Dead Killers. So we played games instead. Often we'd have MTV on in the background of our games. I remember once when "Lithium" by Nirvana came on (yes, MTV played videos back then), Owen immediately reached for the remote and said, "I'm not allowed to listen to this." "Why?" I asked. "Because he says, 'I'm gonna go smoke crack' in the song and my mom doesn't think I should hear him say that." That was funny to me for two reasons. First, if he already knew what something said, was re-hearing it that big a deal? Second, that wasn't the line of the song. It was actually "I'm not gonna crack," and the song's title was in reference to the mood-stabilizer some take to avoid the cracking process.
Another game we'd play was Boggle, or at least his version of it. I wasn't allowed to use any words that he didn't know. That came in handy whenever I had a particularly good word and he conveniently had never heard of it. Oh yeah, he was allowed to use 2-letter words too. I know I shouldn't be competitive in such situations, but this was bullshit. He'd write down any two- or three-letter combinations he could see, then (per his rules) check the dictionary after to see if they were words or not. A lot of them were, unbeknownst to him. (Some were beknownst to me, of course.) Therein lied the rub: I couldn't use words he didn't know, but he could stumble upon as many words as he could write down. I still won most of the time, though he quit partway through several of the games.
There was one part of each babysitting adventure with him though that really, really stood out. The first time I was there late enough that he was going to bed, we went up to his room and I started to say goodnight. I turned toward the door and in a slightly-panicky voice, Owen called out, "Wait! You have to tell me my day!" Hold on, I'm switching to dialogue mode here.
Owen: Wait! You have to tell me my day!
Me: What?
O: (a little more panicky) You have to tell me my day! My mom didn't tell you?
Me: No, she didn't. What do you want me to do?
O: You have to tell me everything that happened today. Or I won't be relaxed enough to fall asleep!
Me: You want me to go through my day and tell you-
O: No! MY day!
Me: But I don't know what you did today!
O: That's why I tell you first!
Me: (taking a breath before speaking) Ok, so you tell me what you did today, and then I repeat it back to you. Did I get that right?
I did have that right. He then walked me through his day at school, including some stuff about his friends, what he ate, etc. until the part that I got to the house. Dutifully, I repeated it all back to him. "Was that ok?" I asked. "Yeah," he said, sounding a little disappointed, "But you left out a little. You'll do better next time." I'm telling you, this kid was a piece of work.
Every time I sat for him from that point on, I told him his day. He'd get in bed, tell me everything he did, and I'd repeat it back to him. Sometimes I'd add things that didn't happen just to see if he'd freak out, but he'd usually just interrupt me and remind me that to stick to the facts.
He's probably about 24 now, and I wonder if he ever got over that need. If not, did he have his roommate in college tell him his day? Did he tape record himself and then play it back through headphones? Did he ever wake up the drunk chick next to him and say, "Sorry to bother you, but I need you to do something for me before you pass out," or something to that effect? Ah, the questions I'd be holding back if I ever ran into him again.
So, gentle readers, that's the story I've been waiting to tell for a while. I have a few more that have been on my "list of things to write about some day," and those are all coming up as fewer ideas pop into my head. You can help, of course, by writing to ptklein@gmail.com. It's fun, easy, and free. How cool is that? Have a great day everyone, and let me know if you need me to repeat it back to you. I have way too much experience in that field. Happy Birthday Shawn!
3 comments:
Ah so...the names have been changed to protect the OCD. Alrighty then.
Owen had a sister that was my age and in my English Class in High School. She was nice, not OCD and even normal, albeit homely.
Ah yes, I remember babysitting for "Owen" quite well. Didn't we sit for him together at least once? And why do I still remember the layout of that house?
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