2003-09-01 - 3:57 p.m.
THE GIFT OF THE LITTLE BOY
The best men keep alive the little boy they once were. The worst of them never grow up enough to say �no� to that little boy when saying �no� really matters. My brother-in-law retained more of that little boy than almost any solid, caring adult man I have ever known. And he gave the gift of his inner little boy to those around them.
Every child ought to have someone in his or her life who is not quite mother-approved and yet, for all that, is trustworthy. For years, I never knew exactly how Bozo the Kite became stuck in a tree in Phoenix. Just knowing the story somehow included a kite, not enough wind, a car, my brother, delighted small children, and my brother-in-law was all I ever wanted to know. I learned early on that glossing over the details was probably better for me. But Bozo the Kite got stuck in the tree approximately ten years ago and my children still spoke of Bozo, the car, and the tree from time-to-time.
To have such an uncle was to learn something about the magical properties of dry ice, glycerin, and food coloring, particularly the food coloring. My sister probably went through gallons of food coloring between the birth of her children and my brother-in-law�s death last week. Isn�t a bath of ordinary water just too....too....too...well, ordinary? But the dry ice created the possibility of swimming in a witch�s cauldron, whatever color the brew.
And then there was the way he fixed things. He fixed the pool pump, he fixed the fan, he fixed the toilet�sort of. Some men, like my husband, study and study such problems, perhaps researching them at the local hardware store. Some men favor duct tape and glue. Others are devotees of Rube Goldberg. Their little boy, their tinkerer, just cannot help think that it would be so much better if that attached to that attached to that�and it worked.
Today Day-Hay was concerned that she had not cried enough for him. She noted that when Mr. Philately lost his step-brother she cried and cried and cried. She mentioned that she was much closer to this uncle and she did not have all that many tears. I told her it was okay and that tears were not always an accurate measure of feeling.
Besides, this uncle would have wanted her to laugh.
LAST YEAR: Never Mind
TWO YEARS AGO: Curtains
IN CASE YOU MISSED THEM:
Blink of an Eye
So Big
Coming to That Confusion
What Price Glory?
Who IS She?
previous - next
|
Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
