From March, 2004:
Cashel – my dear little white-haired boy. In his cute little corduroys.
Okay, so here are some of the highlights:
— I was up at 7 am one morning, and so was Cashel and his mother. Outside, the snow was falling. NPR was playing, coffee was brewing. I made Cashel some EXTREMELY complicated toast, made to his order. I had to “put the butter on where I can see it” (he likes the butter to be in chunks, not evenly melted) – then I had to sprinkle said butter-chunks with sugar – and then sprinkle over that a light frosting of cinnamon. Following the cinnamon, I had to spread it all out evenly, over the toast. And then after that, I had to go take a damn nap because putting together that toast-concoction under his watching eyes was far too much for me.
— Second of all, during our 7 am morning-time together, there was some interview with Edmund Hillary on NPR, but it was basically background. Cashel and I were discussing Batman, among other things. But suddenly, we heard the words “Shackleton” come out of the radio. Cashel stopped, alert. Then he informed me bluntly, “Ernest Shackleton’s boats got crushed in the ice because they were wood and they hadn’t invented steel boats yet.”
I hadn’t yet had my first cup of joe. I struggled to deal with this. I said, trying to add my two cents, “Yeah, I’ve seen the pictures of the boat being crushed!”
I saw this hit Cashel, he pondered it seriously, and then stated, putting two and two together, “So cameras were invented then.” As opposed to steel boats. Smarty-pants.
I said, “Yes. Cameras were invented then. But they weren’t like your mom’s, small enough to fit in her pocket. They were huge.”
Cashel looked thoughtful. He was trying to work out, for himself, the timeline of technological innovation involved in Ernest Shackleton’s failed journey. Then a look of enormous worry floated over his face, and he looked up at me, piercingly, “But nobody was on the boat when it got crushed.”
“Oh no. They were all off, standing on the ice, watching.”
Phew. Cashel was quite concerned about the fate of Shackleton’s crew.
— Somehow, over the weekend, I found myself describing the concept of the Big Bang to Cashel. I figure it’s not too advanced for a boy who understands the innovation of steel, in terms of exploratory trips to the Antarctic.
It was so hilarious, because as I tried to describe it, I could see him just freaking out, with the awe of it all, trying to comprehend it. “And so everything in the universe, Cashel, EVERYTHING – even planets like Jupiter and everything – was all crushed together into a tiny tiny ball – about this big – ” He gawked at the tiny-ness I showed him. “And even though it was so tiny, the ball was so heavy that if you dropped it, it would make a huge hole in the earth and fall right through–” Cashel BURST out laughing, in excitement, in fear. “And then – the pressure got too much in that small ball – and it EXPLODED – and in .546789234567 seconds the entire universe was created.”
Cashel sat in stunned silence, contemplating this amazing thing. Then he stated in a ponderous important voice, “And that was the Dawn of Time.”
— Around the time of the Big Bang conversation – well, actually, after I described the Big Bang to him, it became a theme of the weekend. Jean and I were driving with Cashel and his friend in the backseat, and I could hear Cashel describing the Big Bang to his friend, using my exact words. It’s scary, that power!! Anyway – Cashel had his own elaborations on the Big Bang theme, which he proceeded to share, eloquently, with his friend.
“And at first – everything was very bad – and going crazy – and the Old Gods were making everything go very bad – but then came the New Gods – the Titans – and they cleaned everything up – it was the Titans who came along and made the bad Old Gods go away…”
(Cashel’s friend must have been like: “Is this what the whole afternoon is going to be like?”)
Cashel kept going on his explanation: “Before the Titans came, everything was chouse.” This was an unknown word – The “ch” was said the way you would say “checkers”, and the “ouse” was said like “house”. “Chouse.”
Jean and I heard that word, glanced at each other, and then Jean said, “Everything was what, honey?”
Cashel said, “You know. Chouse. Like – everything is bad, and going crazy.”
It dawned on us: Chaos.
The kid is reading Edith Hamilton’s mythology, he is 6 years old, he saw the word “chaos”, he calls it “chouse”, but he knows it means when everything is going out of control.
We were pretty much blown away by that.
Jean said, “Chaos. That’s how you say that word. Chaos. But you’re right – it means everything going crazy and bad.”
Cashel was not embarrassed at having gotten the word wrong – he immediately corrected it – saying it carefully – “Chaos. The Titans got rid of the Chaos.”
HEART-CRACK.
— We went to go see Cashel compete in something called “the Pinewood Derby”. It’s a Cub Scout thing. (Cashel’s only a Tiger Cub, but they’re still involved). I was never a Cub Scout so I have never heard of such a thing. I was stuck in Brownie purgatory, making stupid duffel bags, and grumbling about how there was no fun, no ceremony in Brownies. What the pinewood derby is is: All the little boys get these pinewood cars, they have to be 5 ounces each – you put wheels on them – you paint them however you want – and then they have a day of races.
There’s almost too much to even describe in this experience. I sat in the stalls at a little grade school with my sister, Cashel’s mother, Cashel’s grandfather – and watched the pinewood derby. Watching Cashel in action, watching how he was socially – reveling in all of these little precious obnoxious little souls – It was potent, and a bit overwhelming.
We were all collectively nervous about Cashel’s car. We don’t know anything about making cars. We don’t know how to paint a car, etc., but we all worked on it the night before, and I have to say – it looked pretty damn cool.
And Cashel made it to the semi-finals. The first time his car won a race, Cashel’s mom shrieked out, “YEEEOWWW!!!” in an embarrassing display of partisanship which we all found totally hysterical. This was not a crowd really given to overt displays of enthusiasm.
Cashel, to be honest, couldn’t really have cared less. All of the other little kids had to be CONSTANTLY reminded not to run when they were near the track. Cashel never needed the reminder. He strolled about the gym like he was John Wayne. He never hurries. It was hilarious – we were watching him saunter around like a cowboy. At one point, he seemed on the verge of getting upset, as he was walking to his place at the end of the track, and he called out, randomly, to no one in particular, “I’M SUCH A SLOW POKE!”
He walks to the beat of his own drummer.
The Cub Scout leaders KILLED ME. These men were amazing. They took their jobs seriously – but not too seriously. These grown men, in Boy Scouts uniforms, making sure everything got done, quieting everyone down with a signal (two fingers up in the air – they never called out, “QUIET” – you had to pay attention, and if you saw the signal, you had to put up YOUR fingers, until the whole room caught on, and quiet descended – I liked that, because it kept everyone on their toes. You were all a part of something, it takes cooperation to make a room of small Cub Scouts and Tiger Cubs be quiet – and they all cooperated when they saw the sign.)
Cashel lost when he got to the semi-finals. He shed some tears when he sat back down with us, tears of disappointment, but he soon rebounded. He is a brave little man.
I’m overwhelmed, at times, by his courage. He’s been through so much, so much “chouse”. He’s a good little man.
— Other things discussed and done over the weekend:
— Major talks about Cro-Magnon man. Cashel informing us that “the husbands” went out and hunted the Wooly Mammoths. I loved that. “The husbands.” As though there were little Cro-Magnon marriage ceremonies. Cashel is highly knowledgeable about Cro-Magnon man.
— He discovered that I have an irrational fear of spiders. He took full advantage of it. He made a pipe-cleaner spider and kept placing it on my notebook, beside my cup, it kept turning up where I least expected it.
— We all watched Toy Story 2 (for the 8 billionith time) and had a great time, laughing like maniacs. Mr. Potato Head was KILLING US. His wife packing his bag before they left on their journey to save Woody, she saying, “I’m going to pack your angry eyes…”
— Jean spearheaded a project to make Mr. Potato Heads using real potatoes. A group trip to Wal-Mart ensued. Much fun was had by all.
— We took turns reading out loud to him at night. His little giggles beside me, as I read Uncle Wiggly.
— I love how he is still little enough to submit to sitting on our laps. He loves that. I read to him with him on my lap. I will MISS that when he gets too old!!
— As I hugged him good-bye I said, “We’re definitely coming up again!” He said, “Next weekend?” Heart-crack.
