Thursday 8/15/24
Had a long, big day out with the kids and Kara yesterday, as they wrapped up their three-day visit to Boston. On Tuesday, we went to the Children's Museum and the Boston Tea Party Museum. I have so much to get done today, after losing about twenty hours over the three days, but it was good to see them and I know, too, that it makes my mother happy.
The kids decided yesterday morning that they wanted to ride the T--given the T's fame as a source of fun and efficiency--rather than take a Lyft to meet for our trip to the Aquarium. I said that they could either get on at Copley and take the train to Government Center and switch to the Blue Line and get off at Aquarium, or just get out at Government Center and I'd meet them and we could walk past where the Boston Massacre happened.
Charlie did this history report on Boston last school year, so seeing some of that history in person--or near as one can get--was meant to be a part of the trip. He wanted to see that, so I met them, though as we passed they didn't seem especially interested.
Nor were they all of that interested, I'd say, in the Aquarium. Lilah was the most into it. I spent a bunch of time alone with her there just hanging out. Ironically--or not--the person most interested in the Aquarium was this person, who was there last week. The Aquarium has always been a special spot for me. When I was a boy, and this goes back to before either of my sisters came along, I delighted in going there, in seeing the animals that I learned about at home in my books. I learned and learned and learned. With everything. I still do, of course.
And then later, and now, the Aquarium is a place I go to a half hour before it closes on random weekday late afternoons, when I've done a lot and hard and terrible things await me come the next day. I regather, I try to find strength for this war I am in, and so that I can continue.
The girls did like the penguins. That was pretty much the only thing Amelia had any time for at the Aquarium--the penguins and some jellies that she said were in Minions.
Amelia didn't much let up in being a pill. For three days. She doesn't like anything, she swings her fists, is kind of mean. She never did warm up to me. Any interaction we had was mostly her telling me she didn't like me, to go away, that she was the boss of me, that we were no longer buddies. If we were gathered for some reason--to look at something, say--she'd go, "Not you, Colin."
Yesterday my sister had Amelia in her "I Love My Buddy" shirt, which I think she probably wore reluctantly at her mom's insistence.
We were in the gift shop after and there were these squid hats that Amelia was looking at. She seemed confused by what they were, so I said, "That's a hat." She responded by saying, "No." I said, "Yes, it's a hat. The sign says so, too. Why don't you try it on and see if it's a hat?"
She puts the squid hat on and it came down over her eyes and she's standing there with her shoulders slouched.
"See? It's a hat!" I said. "Do you think you wear it well?"
She said, "It's too big!" and in a very dramatic flourish she took the hat off of her head, raised it above her, and dashed it to the ground. "You're going to have to pick that up and hang it on the hook now," I told her. "No!" she insisted. So I picked it up and put it back.
After the Aquarium, we walked to the North End for lunch at a cafe I go to (the one where I had that incident with the homeless man a few weeks ago). They liked it. Wasn't too crowded when we got there.
Amelia sat next to me and I turned to her and said, "I've been thinking about this, and you're not the boss of me." She goes, "Yes, I'm the boss of you." I replied, "No. If anything, I'm the boss of you." Then I asked her if she was also the boss of Grammie and that seemed to confuse her. She mumbled something I couldn't make out.
Then they got gelato on Hanover Street. Everything takes a long time. Getting ready, stopping, deciding, moving. We went to Paul Revere's house.
While we were gathered in North Square, I pointed out the old school to Amelia where the little ghost girl lives. She didn't like that! The look on her face! "There's no such things as ghosts," she said, but I could tell she wasn't very confident. I said, "What do you mean? How can you say that? I was talking to the little ghost girl the other day." Then I did the whole quavering ghost voice thing. "Colin! Hoooooowwww is Ameliaaaaaa." Bit of comeuppance. Then it was time to head to Charlestown for Bunker Hill and the Monument! Yea!
Now, this isn't a huge amount of walking or anything, but the complaints! I'm so tired! Are we there yet! I can't go any further!
To which I responded with queries and admonitions such as, "Well! I guess we aren't Zulu warriors in training, are we?" and "Let's try and have better energy, children!" and "Time to adjust our attitudes!" and "Stairs don't run themselves!"
I showed the two older kids the site that's marked out in stones where the old tavern burned down on the day of the battle of Bunker Hill and then finally we were at the Monument itself. You'd think we had at last made it through the desert.
Charlie knew that his mother had done the Monument with me a bunch of years ago. She went up twice and ran the first 100 stairs each time, so he had that 100 stair number in mind and didn't want to have been beaten by his mom. Can't say I blame him there.
Lilah had decided that she was exhausted and wanted no part of those 294 stairs. So I up me and the boy went. He did awesome! He ran the first 100 stairs and then he didn't stop for any breaks as we walked the rest of them. He wasn't particularly interested in the views at the top--this was more of an athletic challenge to him. I asked him coming down if he wanted to do it four more times with me, but he said he was good.
Get to the bottom and who do you think wants to go up now, but Lilah, having recovered and not wishing to miss out on what her brother did. So I took her up. I said to her, "You go first, and just go however you want to go. If you want to stop for a break, just stop. It's not a race."
She passed some people near the start and did a great job, too. A few times I said, "Why don't we take a break on the next landing and you can get some air by the window" but we made it to the top and she was so happy because, according to her, it was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. She asked me if I'd send the photo of her triumphant victory to her mom, so that it could be printed out and she could show the kids when school starts next week. I said, "I already did! And I sent it to Grammie, too! Grammie already said how impressed she was by you!"
Lilah is very sensitive and she gets stressed. She was telling me about it at the Aquarium. I had said, "I get stressed, too. Sometimes I come here for my stress, and I run stairs. But yeah, stress is hard." Coming down I said, "I'll go first"--in case she fell, she'd just fall into me--"and you let me know if you want to stop and just keep your hand on the rail" and I told her what a great job she did, that most people doing it for the first time really have a hard time and she did awesome."
The other three were waiting at the bottom. Amelia had been attacking birds throughout their visit and clocked a pigeon with my sister's hat. Now she was ripping up grass. There was no way they were walking back, so my sister called a Lyft and I set off on foot, obviously. Did you really think I was going to take a car from the Monument to the North End?
As I was heading down the hill, my sister phoned, saying that the boy wanted to come with me. I waited for him, he caught up, and away we went. I figured this would be a good time for a talk about a couple things.
He started saying how a week from tomorrow, he'd be in school, and he was dreading that, because he had been assigned the worst teacher and he doesn't like school much anyway. I said, "You can't look at it that way, my friend. If you go in with your mind made up, you might end up making things a certain way that they really aren't or don't need to be." Then I told him a story, which went like this, with the language being a bit more peppery than at other times, but I know what he's already heard and I knew what he'd get a kick out of and would get through to him.
"So when I was in second grade, I had this teacher and she sucked ass. Truly. Her name--and this was her real name--was Ms. Pucci. Oh my goodness this person. Everyone raved about her. She was the best teacher in the world, everyone wanted to get in her class. The year before, I was never in trouble, and my teacher would even have me do things to help out. But then in second, with Ms. Pucci, every day it was something. I'd get yelled at, and kept in for recess, and I didn't know what I was doing wrong, because I didn't think I was doing anything differently. And one day she bent down in front of me and said, 'Colin, you're giving me cold pricklies, and I want warm fuzzies." I thought, 'What the hell, lady? You suck."
"We got to the end of the year, and we went on this mini-field trip across the street from our school to a pond. We all sat in a circle, and Ms. Pucci had each of us say what we were going to miss the most from that year. This girl next to me goes, 'I'm going to miss you the most, Ms. Pucci.' And I'm thinking, 'Oh, come on, shut up.' Then it was my turn and I said, 'I'm good. I'm ready to move on.' And Pucci just glared at me.
"Well, at the end of the summer, we found out who are teachers were going to be for the next year, and my teacher was going to be Ms. Ferris. And Ms. Ferris was considered the meanest, the least funny, the least fun teacher in...like, anywhere. Some crabby witch. And you know what she was for me? She was the most important teacher I ever had in my life. She encouraged me. She believed in me. She encouraged me to write. To write stories. We talked about them. She told me I had a talent that other people did not have and that was very special. We talked about books and stories and she was kind and smart and full of joy. But she wanted you to try hard. And you know what? People who care about you, and people who love you, and people who are really your friends, and people who are good for you, want you to try hard. And that's a good thing. So, brother man, wait and see. You never know. And hey, next year, when you're in middle school, you're going to have like seven teachers. How many of them, realistically, do you think you're going to like? You're hoping for four, say. But that's just life."
I also talked to him about the gay slur thing, as I said I would. We had extra time, because the first Lyft driver drove right past my sister and the girls. He may have seen Amelia and thought, "Oh no, that's the kid who is a handful." They wanted to do a taste test of cannoli between Modern Pastry and Mike's, so all of the sugary confection were procured. I hadn't eaten anything. I adhere to my routine and, as I've said, I don't take food during the day, and of course I don't eat sweets.
We went to the Paul Revere Mall to eat the treats. Then I showed them the oldest standing house in Boston, and finally it was off to the playground on Prince Street, which Amelia had been pining for ever since we passed it on the way to Charlestown. I took the boy up to Copp's Hill, but the burial ground had just closed. My sister called for another Lyft to take them back to the hotel, and I walked them all down to Commercial Street to meet their ride.
Big hugs from Lilah and Charlie, the latter of whom got out of the car to hug me again before it left.
Meanwhile, my buddy remained in her stroller and wouldn't so much as look at me. I said to her, "Well, you. I'm uncertain where this trip leaves us, frankly. I don't think it's been great for us, buddy-wise. I'm not sure if we'll talk on the FaceTime as we did before. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. But no matter where things stand with you as pertains to me, I will always be your buddy. Also: you are not the boss of me, and if anything, as I said earlier, I am the boss of you."
And yes, that is verbatim what I did say to her.
Comments