Keep an eye on the smart kid
The toddler was playing at the open window. He wasn't looking out like he does while I cut the lawn, not realizing one day it'll be him sweating behind the mower.
He just stood in front of the screen placing toys on the window sill.
First, he sat his fire truck, a red fireman's helmet covering the eyes of the Dalmatian behind the wheel, something I hope sticks with the boy for his driver's test. That stupid dog always crashes into the fridge.
Second, a green and yellow tractor that wasn't quite green and yellow enough for John Deere to sue for copyright infringement.
And third, the Nightmare on Elm Street Musical Turtle. "Musical" because the turtle plays "Ten Little Indians," "Do-Re-Mi" and "The Wheels on the Bus" until you want to bash it with a rock. "Nightmare on Elm Street" because he's had the turtle a year and the batteries just won't die.
He stared at the toys and pushed one closer to the other. He switched the order of the tractor and the Freddy Krueger turtle. Then he switched them back.
"What are you doing, Sam?" I asked, in the great tradition of parents trying to coax a complex answer out of someone whose vocabulary consists mainly of dog, more, bug, ball, milk, juice and moo.
"Choo," he said.
Oh, yeah, and choo. The kid, at 21 months, loves dogs, balloons, ants, bicycles, anything with buttons, trucks, tractors and those big hamster tubes at the playground. But throw a train into the mix and the rest mean nothing to him.
"Choo," I said as encouragingly as you can say "choo."
Isn't that cute, I thought. He's built a train.
Then my recessive mathematics gene kicked in. The same mathematics gene that barely got me through the college class for students who can't reuse fingers they've already counted, and all three seasons of the original Star Trek in syndication. OK, so I never knew what Spock was talking about, but I can at least make correct change. Let's see a fictional space alien do that.
My equation went something like this: big vehicle+progressively smaller vehicles+toddler saying "choo" = train.
Good lord, I thought. He has built a train.
There's a moment every parent realizes their child may be smarter than them. Most parents hope this doesn't happen before the kid's potty trained.
I sat and watched as he pushed his makeshift train back and forth in the window, amazed at the imagination of a child who hasn't quite mastered the spoon.
We're in trouble, I thought, picturing the boy as a teenager building a time machine in the basement. Which would be OK as long as he didn't bring home any Morlocks. First it's toy trains, then real trains, then Austrian-speaking cyborgs who will one day rule the world. Or, he may even take up smoking.
Then he stopped playing with his make-believe train, hid behind a chair and pooped his diaper.
OK, I realized. Even if he is smarter than me, I won't have to worry about it for quite a while.
