Thursday, April 4, 2013

A vignette of Jon, at age four, at the vet's office

Moving forces you to go through things.  And when you go through things, you find things.  Today I found something I wrote about in the year 2000.  I had taken Jon, who was four at the time, to the vet's office with me for Piper's physical.  (Piper was a wee pup back then, but that is an aside.)

from my records (if you can call them that)

January 2000
Jon was in a very good mood at the vet's today.  He found a man who had a golden retriever and who would talk to him.  The guy was totally deadpan, around 30 years old with tired eyes and no smile.  Jon regaled the guy with his stunning conversational skills while we were waiting to take Piper back.

Here is a sample of the conversation:

Jon approaches a man's dog and begins to greet and pet it.  This is about the fourth animal Jon has approached, but this pet owner does not frown and try to get Jon to go away. 

Me:  Going to the vet is even more fun than going to the zoo, isn't it, Jon?

Jon:  Yes.  At the zoo there's cages.

The Man:  You don't want to go in those cages.

Jon:  No.  You can't go in the cage.  Last summer we went to the zoo and (gestures with both arms) I didn't even go in one cage!  The bears are in those cages, and you don't want to go in the cage with the bear.  That's against the rules.  (pauses, then resumes)  The bears are in those cages for... one whole week.

The Man:  Where do they go after the week's up?  To the mall?

Jon (disgusted):  No.  They go to another zoo.

After our appointment, while I was paying, the man appeared in the lobby after his appointment, too... apparently our paths were destined to cross again.  I may have been imagining it, but I thought I saw a glimmer of humor in his mostly impassive eyes as Jonathan picked up the conversation right where it had left off.

Jon:  When we got Piper, we didn't even have to ask anybody.

The Man (confused--understandably; I was confused, too):  Who didn't you have to ask?

Jon:  It was a house.  We drove there and it was very far away.  (trying to impress)  It was like the president's house.

Me (feebly trying to clarify):  It was a white house.

The Receptionist (helping me, addressing Jon in an educational tone):   The president lives in a white house.

Jon (matter of factly):  Yup.  (then proceeding loudly and with much dramatic emphasis...)  You know, there's good presidents, and there's bad presidents.  Some presidents are really bad.

The Man (seriously interested now, and leading Jon on...):  Like, who's a bad president?

Me (in my thoughts):  Oh my word.  Oh my word.  Why do we ever say anything about our political views in front of the children?  Can I please just pay quickly and leave now?

Jon (after a rather lengthy and very pregnant pause, during which all activity in the office had ceased while every ear was tuned to see which president this four-year-old would classify as very bad):  George Washington!  George Washington was the very first president.

The Man:  Yes, I think he was.

Jon:  Yup.  God made George Washington first.

Me (in my thoughts):  I'm not sure what just happened, but thank you, God.  My face is throbbing, but I can breathe again.

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