you’re four and half now

It's your dad again.

Tiny tenant, you’re four and half now. It’s been over two years since we wrote you one of these.  There have been times when I thought to. This year the 10th class of my students is watching Finding Neverland.  There’s a scene where a  mother apologizes to the visiting author J.M. Barrie for the lax discipline of her house (if the “Neverland” part didn’t give it away, he’s the guy who created Peter Pan). The boys refuse to go to sleep and instead play wildly in the nursery. The fictionalized version of J.M. Barrie tells Sylvia Llewelyn Davies that boys should never be sent to bed,  they always wake up a day older. Today was the first time that line made me feel sad. 

The year before last was the most recent time that I supervised float construction for the high school.  The build site was out at Musson Farm.  Your mom brought you out to visit.  The Mussons let you climb up into one of the giant tractors. Brandon Rowe’s mom was out there at the time.  Her son was less than a year away from leaving for college.  She talked about how fast it goes.

We still take afternoon naps together. It’s something I cling to.  Some nights we fall asleep together on the couch watching movies or cartoons.  

For a long stretch you really liked bugs.  One of the times your grandpa and grandma Hayworth came and stayed at the Hyatt, we went there so that you could use the pool.  There were bugs.  You played with them. Grandma was surprised. One of your preschool teachers told a story last year about a rolly polly you tried to rescue.  This year Mr. Cordell told us about a funeral you had for a spider. The rubber bugs are still one of your favorite things to play with at school, but your love affair with the real things seems to have turned sour for now.  Just the other day you and a girl were enshrining a dead ladybug when I arrived to pick you up. I’ve always been indifferent to bugs at best. Your mom has gone out of her way to help you hold and explore them.  

She ordered butterflies just this past summer.  They arrived as caterpillars and we watched them go through their metamorphosis. This was also when we started to notice that something was changing.  You would go to watch them in their cage, and would get startled when they flew towards you.  More recently it’s got to the point where you would scream bloody murder and try to climb our bodies whenever a moth flew towards you. It couldn’t be worse timing.  The hundreds of caterpillars we saw making cocoons on our bushes over the summer have just hatched.  The backyard is a sea of baby moths. But you’re being brave about it.  First you started waving your hands and saying shoo shoo shoo, then you started saying hi to them.  Sometimes you’re scared enough to ask to be picked up.  But you’re calm now.  

You process things through role playing.  You make us be the moths (or anything else really), and then talk through your feelings and anxieties.  When you see a bully on TV, you make us play the bully.  You’re Ben 10, a therizinosaurus or Godzilla.  You put the bad guy in their place.

You’re becoming your own person.  Right now  your favorite song is “Monster”, by Skillet.  You associate the video with Ben 10, a show we’ve been exploring together.  Because of that, I ordered a few large lots of Ben 10 toys on eBay,  other people’s childhoods. Every Sunday you get one. You’re even getting pretty good at a Ben 10 Omniverse Game on the old Wii. Godzilla and Plants vs Zombies are some of your other past and present interests.  The giant tub of Transformers Animated toys we share was something that you were indoctrinated into.  These more recent choices are your own. I’m watching you grow into more and more of a complete human being. I’m excited as we can begin to share more and more things even as I know time is slipping away.