My friends, Barbara and Ed, are young parents. Their daughter, Emily, was born about a year ago and she has been advancing through those early stages of infancy to toddlerhood lickety-split.
Recently, I ran into Emily’s wise babysitter. “How’s Emily doing?” I asked.
“She’s coming into her own,” Queen replied. “She has a little temper. When she tries it out on me I tell her that there won’t be any of that business.” Queen has enough years of experience to be confident in imposing some limits for Emily. With a smile Queen concluded, “The thing about Emily is that she is smarter than Barbara and Ed.”
Queen just held her quiet grin, but I laughed out loud. “Isn’t that just the thing!” I exclaimed. “The children are always smarter.” It was easy to laugh then because what I really had in mind was that they sometimes seem smarter.
This past weekend my husband and I took our 9 year old son, our 11 year old daughter and our daughter’s best friend to a 2 day out-of-town swim meet. We were at the swim complex poolside from 8 AM until 5:30 PM on Saturday. At dinner that evening everyone was worn out and the children were giggling about everything. Emma and her friend, Jessica, couldn’t prevent themselves from poking fun at Cabell.
We are munching on salads when Jessica says, “He’s a potato brain, he’s so silly.” All of us at the table, including Cabell, giggle. “But it’s mush,” she continues. “He’s a mashed potato brain.”
Emma leans across Jessica to look at Cabell with mock astonishment. “He has a brain?” She asks, as if incredulous at the thought. Gales of laughter follow, especially from “mush brain.”
Jessica then claims that she, in contrast to Cabell, has a solid brain. Actually, after some dissertation, she concludes that although solid, she believes that her brain is made of chocolate. In fact, it is a chocolate shell filled with cookie dough. “Mmmm,” we all murmur, ready for dessert.
The dinner conversation drifts to “the old days” as the children reminisce about the days when they were toddlers. They tell their own versions about when they were little. The stories are filled with burps and upchucks, eating yucky things and being naked in public.
In the midst of their happiness and laughter and talk about the old days, I am captured by the memory of a game I played as a child. I say to them, “You guys, I just remembered this great game I had when I was little. I haven’t thought about it in a long time, but you all would love it. If I ever see it in the store, I’m going to buy it for you.” I smile remembering how much fun I had playing this game. “Uncle Wiggly,” I say. “It’s called Uncle Wiggly.”
I look across the dinner table at the 3 children—Mush Brain, Chocolate-Cookie-Dough Brain and No Brainer. All 3 appear instantly solemn. Uncle Wiggly has squelched all the giggling. Our 9 year old son leans forward, forearms resting on the dinner table, blue eyes serious, “What’s the concept?” he asks.
Suddenly I realize I’ve been outsmarted. I had been so caught up in all of their silly, brainteasing hoopla, I had forgotten how much smarter than me they really are. “Concept?” I mutter. “Well, it’s a board game and the main player is Uncle Wiggly. You draw these cards that move Uncle Wiggly along this path filled with traps and bad places, but eventually he gets to the briar patch or some place that is his home at the end of the path. And, well, he always makes it through all the bad places because he’s a really smart guy. You see, he doesn’t have any children of his own. He is just loved and revered by all of the many children of his brothers and sisters who call him Uncle…Uncle Wiggly.”
The children are still staring at me with looks of confusion. I suppose that you have to be my age to really understand the concept.