“Mom, is it Sursday?” Zach asks on the wrong Thursday.
“Mom, it’s Sunday? Dats da day Uncle Chris is coming to the libwary“, he asks on Sunday.
“Mom, is it Sursday?” he asks again the next Thursday.
“Yup, we’re off to the library”, I can finally tell him.
Zach’s been watching the calendar, or having me watch it. The library reading program scheduled the well-advertised clown/magician to entertain the local reading club children. Everyone was to dress in their favourite superhero costume.
Zach pulled out his Spiderman costume, two sizes too small, and threw on a clown hat for effect. His sisters painted his face and knighted him “Nephew Chris the SpiderClown”.
The energy in that library was as electric as tweenagers awaiting a Justin Bieber concert. “Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris” I could hear the pumping heart of my four year old son. Thirty, forty, or fifty preschoolers chanting, squirming, squealing as he jumped in view.
Ten year old Madelyn sat beside me on the big chairs watching for his clever slight of hand turning the colouring book. Now the colouring book is uncoloured. Now it’s coloured. She’d been there, done that presentation before. But no matter to four year old Zach. This is a wonder! How did he do it? Did we really colour with our fingers? Uncle Chris’ audience is renewed every two years when the next lot of preschoolers is ready for some merriment.
When Uncle Chris called for an audience participant, Rachel pointed to “Nephew Chris the Clown” and pulled his hand high into the air. A look of awe and wonder, and utter delight, that he was chosen.
Zach sliced with those giant yellow scissors, demolishing that white rope. He was dazzled by Uncle Chris’ jokes. And finally, Uncle Chris laid a wreath of red around Zach’s neck. The look on his face says it all.
