He was all of four years old and dutifully obedient. Each morning, he awoke with the sun and ran to my bedside to remind me to start the day. We would walk together to the kitchen to make coffee and then, return to the back of the house where he helped me shave. Now, of course, he has grown to be as tall as I am, but at four, he ran three steps to each one of mine, all while my hand naturally rested at full extension on his curly mop top just like Papa's rested on mine at his age. What a great memory.
This day, this day of independence, as he slid in his light blue feet pajamas on the dark and slippery hardwood floors between the bedroom and kitchen, he spied an unusual sight. Someone had left the living room television on all night, and there on the screen, in the very middle of the screen, in the very middle of the screen dominating the entire room was a goofy looking, talking purple dinosaur (he had certainly heard of Barney from his friends by this time of his life, but had not actually seen him on television and certainly had not seen him at that time of day).
Well, he stopped in his tracks, mesmerized by the idea that television actually worked before I left for the office (the kids usually turned it on when I left and while they waited for Mom to awaken later in the morning) and intrigued by the character we had up to that time avoided.
It seemed harmless, and anyway, I was acutely aware of the importance of imbibing a high octane beverage before pressing a steely blade to my whiskers, so I stumbled on into the kitchen and activated the espresso machine. He stood in the other room, motionless before His Purple Highness while the coffee machine hissed and gurgled, and while I anxiously anticipated the first shot of the day.
When the coffee was finally ready and I began the trudge to the back of the house, I called him to join me.
"Come on buddy."
No response.
I slurped the mud brown elixir of life through my teeth and said again, "Come on, let's go." I motioned with my hand for him to come.
My movement distracted him from the television. He quickly turned from the screen, looked me in the eye and as he motioned with his arms in the purple haze that colored the room like a baseball umpire calling the runner "safe," he said, "I won't, I won't never."
Then, he stood there in full flourish, palms down, arms fully extended with the most serious look on his face as if to say "why haven't I seen this purple dinosaur before, and now that I have, how could you ever interrupt him."
For a good eight seconds it looked like his short introduction to Barney was having a negative effect until our eyes met and we both then burst out laughing. He flipped off the television and padded down the hall to me, grabbed my hand and placed it on his head and said, "let's go shave, Daddy."
This day, this day of independence, as he slid in his light blue feet pajamas on the dark and slippery hardwood floors between the bedroom and kitchen, he spied an unusual sight. Someone had left the living room television on all night, and there on the screen, in the very middle of the screen, in the very middle of the screen dominating the entire room was a goofy looking, talking purple dinosaur (he had certainly heard of Barney from his friends by this time of his life, but had not actually seen him on television and certainly had not seen him at that time of day).
Well, he stopped in his tracks, mesmerized by the idea that television actually worked before I left for the office (the kids usually turned it on when I left and while they waited for Mom to awaken later in the morning) and intrigued by the character we had up to that time avoided.
It seemed harmless, and anyway, I was acutely aware of the importance of imbibing a high octane beverage before pressing a steely blade to my whiskers, so I stumbled on into the kitchen and activated the espresso machine. He stood in the other room, motionless before His Purple Highness while the coffee machine hissed and gurgled, and while I anxiously anticipated the first shot of the day.
When the coffee was finally ready and I began the trudge to the back of the house, I called him to join me.
"Come on buddy."
No response.
I slurped the mud brown elixir of life through my teeth and said again, "Come on, let's go." I motioned with my hand for him to come.
My movement distracted him from the television. He quickly turned from the screen, looked me in the eye and as he motioned with his arms in the purple haze that colored the room like a baseball umpire calling the runner "safe," he said, "I won't, I won't never."
Then, he stood there in full flourish, palms down, arms fully extended with the most serious look on his face as if to say "why haven't I seen this purple dinosaur before, and now that I have, how could you ever interrupt him."
For a good eight seconds it looked like his short introduction to Barney was having a negative effect until our eyes met and we both then burst out laughing. He flipped off the television and padded down the hall to me, grabbed my hand and placed it on his head and said, "let's go shave, Daddy."
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