She was all of two years old, and like every first child, had a daily itinerary that required a calendar and a chauffeur. She alternated Miss Patti's dance class, with tumbling and twirling, mothers day out, or some other reason to go (Let's Go Ridin' In The Car Car) every day, and as a result, spent a good bit of time shoulder-strapped into the self-contained, Nascar-safe car seat in the back of our tan Volvo station wagon that we bought the day we learned she was coming.
From her elevated vantage point and through her ever-present Mickey sunglasses, she could see over the front dashboard as well as out the side windows and had a generally good view of the world. Never the shy one, she was constantly jabbering about life in general, singing along with the car radio or asking pointed "what-is-that" questions.
Waco, where we lived at the time, is a relatively small town. Our route to and from just about anywhere was predictable enough that if we deviated, it was not uncommon to hear from the back seat, "whar we goin'" or "Miss Patti's is ober dare."
So familiar was she with her surroundings that one day while driving by my office, she announced with authority and conviction, "Daddy's working!" She was never one to be limited by convention, and to her, "Daddy's working," was not a description of something I was doing, but rather was the noun "working" (the place where work is performed) preceded by the adjective describing the person associated with the place. We laughed about it then, and for some good time thereafter my office was known as the "working."
Around that same time period, she was learning the letters of the alphabet. One day, while enthroned in the Volvo as we passed the grocery store close to the house, she announced in her typically raspy, yet full voice, "H-E-B!" She articulated each individual letter enthusiastically and sort of sang the pronouncement up the musical scale. "H-E-B!" It was a real milestone, the first time she made a connection between the colorful signs along the road and her home schooling studies. From that point forward she either read, or asked us to read every street sign and advertisement that caught her eye.
One of her regular destinations was John M's house. He was also about two and couldn't quite pronounce her nickname, "Lammie," so he referred to her as "Yammi." "Is My Yammi coming over to play today?" She always referred to him using his full name as if it were one word, "John M. . ."
From her elevated vantage point and through her ever-present Mickey sunglasses, she could see over the front dashboard as well as out the side windows and had a generally good view of the world. Never the shy one, she was constantly jabbering about life in general, singing along with the car radio or asking pointed "what-is-that" questions.
Waco, where we lived at the time, is a relatively small town. Our route to and from just about anywhere was predictable enough that if we deviated, it was not uncommon to hear from the back seat, "whar we goin'" or "Miss Patti's is ober dare."
So familiar was she with her surroundings that one day while driving by my office, she announced with authority and conviction, "Daddy's working!" She was never one to be limited by convention, and to her, "Daddy's working," was not a description of something I was doing, but rather was the noun "working" (the place where work is performed) preceded by the adjective describing the person associated with the place. We laughed about it then, and for some good time thereafter my office was known as the "working."
Around that same time period, she was learning the letters of the alphabet. One day, while enthroned in the Volvo as we passed the grocery store close to the house, she announced in her typically raspy, yet full voice, "H-E-B!" She articulated each individual letter enthusiastically and sort of sang the pronouncement up the musical scale. "H-E-B!" It was a real milestone, the first time she made a connection between the colorful signs along the road and her home schooling studies. From that point forward she either read, or asked us to read every street sign and advertisement that caught her eye.
One of her regular destinations was John M's house. He was also about two and couldn't quite pronounce her nickname, "Lammie," so he referred to her as "Yammi." "Is My Yammi coming over to play today?" She always referred to him using his full name as if it were one word, "John M. . ."
©2006 David R. Childress. All Rights Reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment