The Jackeroo Files
So it's Friday afternoon, and my Mom bundles me up in lots of clothes, packs a bunch of my things, and we get on the train, right? I mean, it's got to be 80° out, I'm on a Jersey Transit train, on my way to Philadelphia, sweating like a farm animal. All the way down, she's fussing over me like I'm going off to boarding school or something; I mean, I can't even walk yet!
We get to Philadelphia and she troops me over
to visit these people who I kind of recognize (I'm still not too
good at this cognition stuff yet), who seem friendly enough and
are willing to feed me and play with me, and give me the undivided
attention I deserve. Even better, they let me stay up past my
bedtime. Way cool, man.
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Next AM, I'm up and playing with my feet when
Grandmom comes to get me, and we hang out in the big bed. Then
they dress me (always a chore; I hate it) and off we go. We hang
out in Washington Square Park, and it's really nice and fun.
Here's me in the park: |
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I'm actually having a pretty good time, and
it looks like Grandmom is, as well. Perhaps I need to explain this stupid hat. Of course, I don't get to choose my clothes; grown-ups get to dress you. (This is why parents are willing to put up with little kids: they can dress us up.) The hat is my Dad's idea; he's addicted to bizarre headgear, so I guess this is my fate for the next decade or so. |
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So this big guy with the pillowy tummy knows
how to get to me: play "stand-up". When you're 7 months
old, this is a good as it gets. I think he can handle this, at
least for now. Let's see how he does when I start to run around.
Afterwards, he shows me a horse and carriage, carrying some tourists around Philadelphia. The driver waves, the tourists don't. There's a lesson here... |
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