Boy shows aptitude for making a mess
Our toddler doesn't like to walk in the grass. He's a sidewalk kinda guy.
I guess I can understand that. The sidewalk's safe, it has nothing to hide and, best of all, it's flat. He'll take his little 19-month-old waddle down the sidewalk to the driveway, then walk over gravel until he's close enough to the swing set the last few feet in the grass are manageable.
Sure, this route's out of the way, but for him, there are no surprises.
My wife and I sat on the front steps and watched him as he purposefully marched down the sidewalk and into our driveway. But he didn't go toward the swing set. Instead, he filled his chubby little hands with gravel, took a few brave steps into the yard and dumped them.
"What's he doing?" I asked my wife.
"He's putting rocks in the grass," she said.
Yeah, I could see that.
"Hmmm."
Like every parent, I wonder what my baby's going to be when he grows up. I work under the philosophy that he can do whatever he wants in order to figure that out. You know, play Little League baseball, read comic books, take art classes, hunt Sasquatch, whatever. His mother only has one stipulation to this: "no football."
Yeah, we'll see.
He went back to the driveway for more gravel. With his dislike for grass, maybe he'll grow up to be one of those developers who build concrete strip malls.
His mother has other ideas.
"I want him to play the piano," she said.
"Why the piano?" I asked, not knowing many strip mall developers who can hammer out Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor with much precision.
"Because I think it's good for a child to learn how to play a musical instrument."
Agreed.
"But why the piano?" I asked again. "That's like him admitting girls aren't icky, or declaring his favorite super hero is Robin. The other kids will make fun of him."
She looked at me and shook her head. I thought she'd grown used to my fifth-grade playground way of thinking.
"Your step-dad said when he's older he can sit at a piano during a party and girls will crawl all over him."
I smiled.
"Hey, that's a great point," I said. "Sure, he needs to take piano lessons."
"So you're saying it's OK to take piano lessons just to pick up girls?"
I nodded.
"Sure."
She growled.
Our baby could grow up to be anything. Doctor, farmer, fighter pilot or (good Lord) a writer _ anything but the president. Although, if he is, I guess he'll probably pick up his first lady at a piano bar.
He dumped his third load of gravel into the yard, something I'd have to clean up before I mowed. Then he went back for more.
Maybe he just wants to build roads. Yeah, I'd be fine with that.
