Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Shady Character

WE’RE BACK from a whirlwind trip to L.A. for my nephew’s bar mitzvah, which was excellent, and his reception party, which was superfun and delightful with the skating and the musical scavanger chairs game and the Greg Howard lookalike dj and all that, and of course the next day we hit up diddyland with the always-wonderful Patricia and even a few precious moments with the amazing Miss Mia (rides rid included Dumbo, rotating rockets, astroblasters (which scared zach very much indeed), toon town, autopia (Z steered so unerringly that K didn’t realize he was in control till the ride was nearly over), the train, nemo’s submarine, and then Z watched a parade while P, K and I hit the pirates (sis-evi and scott and little deelie were there too so Z was not abandoned to the crowd, no worries etc).) That was all that the munchkins could take; we got home monday afternoon.  However, such an extended exposure to Z-meister’s adorability index (which is significant) leads me to offer this tale of juvenile wisdom and self-awareness:

Zach’s needs as a toddler and as a human bean are pretty well met.  His diet is substantial, healthful and varied, and he gets plenty of exercise and playtime along with his reading and puzzles.  He doesn’t often ask us for much, though that will surely change soon enough.  However, for the nonce, he’s pretty content.  His demands, such as they are, are few.

I guess that’s why I noticed when he brought up the subject of me getting him sunglasses for a second time while we were out on a walk not long ago.  His Thomas-train shades were safely ensconced god-knows-where and the day was bright and sunny; his request had been reasonable the first time and was plainly plaintive the second.  I had my shades on, after all.  The poor shlump had a point.

We needed some bandaids or something so we were heading to the big local drugporium anyway - five aisles of unguents and quackery, a pharmapod in the back, and all the rest of the cavernous space filled with every variety of cheap seasonal, novelty, and household crap.  It’s not a place I like to shop but I have to admit that they almost always have something that I need - and sometimes, killer deals on good beer, too. 

So, sometimes this store had something really worth my money, I needed to buy something they carried, and Zach needed sunglasses.  The connection seemed obvious.  But as we tooled around the vast proliferations of the store, I was coming up short.  Soon we’d completed our little round of obligatory shopping and I still hadn’t noticed any baby shades. 

Turns out, kids’ sunglasses were neither with the sunglasses nor with the kids’ stuff; a friendly sales associate directed me to their spot sort of stranded on an endcap not far from checkout.  Initial prospects looked good - a stand of four racks rose from the floor, stacked and laden.  “There they are, boy!  Sunglasses ho!” He wheeled to the quarry and lasered in on his choice: “Dora!  Dora glasses!”

I was taken a bit aback.  This was not what I’d had in mind for him.  “Um, I think they have some other ones too....”

“NO, Zack Doraglasses!,” he cheerfully insisted as I dropped to my knees to find another option for him.  I figured we were in for some trademarked character shlock, but, dude, the Dora glasses?  And it’s not even that I have anything against Dora herself; I’m sure she’s a lovely person and a friend to animals and all that.  We don’t actually watch her program at our home but that’s no nevermind.  Show me some cool Dora glasses and I’m all over them. 

These ones, though?  Not so much.  They’re sort of moddish Jackie-Ovals with dark lenses set well into sparkly pale blue frames.  Dora waves impishly from the fore-end of each templebar.  They’re glitzy and garrish.  There must be another choice.

I paw through the rack and there’s bad news and good news: There is only one non-Dora option - but it’s awesome. Black wayfarer-types with blue-black reflective lenses decorated with a scattering of classic bat-signs.  They boy would look so tough in them.  He’d see they light of these shades, I assured myself.  He’d make the right choice if he knew what his choices really were. 

“Hey, check this out - Batman glasses!”

“No, that’s not Dora glasses. I like the Dora ones!”

“Well, these are pretty nice too; see, they’ve got bats, you can try them on like this - “

As I reached toward his face with the cool black kiddy shades in my hand, his wail stopped me in my tracks.  I was not going to get him to try on the Batman glasses.  He was committed body and soul to the sparkly blue Dora glasses.  This was his choice, and by gum he had made it. 

The three of us - Zach, Dora and I - made our way to the checkout counter.  As she rang up the shades, the bored-looking woman at the register offered Zach a wryly raised eyebrow, but her judgmentalism failed to penetrate his elation.  Dora glasses were nigh. 

As soon as the transaction was complete, I snipped the packing straps and set the glasses on his face.  His smile was so bright that the whole store needed shades.  Sparkly and fairy-hued and softly curvaceous and Dora-inscribed though they were, those glasses looked damn good on him.  I may not have been totally down with his choice, but maybe he made the right one without my help.  Z-bot totally rocks the Dora shades. 

Postscript: It was only a few days ago that Z pointed something out to us in one of his new favorite books.  It’s full of photos of little schoolkids doing crafts and play-acting, and one of them is wearing a classic Superman-"S" shirt.  The same kid appears inside the book and also on the back cover.  Z takes care to point him out - in duplicate - to whomever is reading to him.  He finally offered this explanation: “Superman.  I’m Superman.  I’m not Batman.  I’m Superman.”

I don’t think he’s ever seen either of them in action; certainly not the kind of full-bore explosions-and-fisticuffs action for which they’re best known.  Regardless, Z has made his allegiances: pro-Super, anti-Bat.  Again, that wouldn’t have been my choice, but it’s not my choice to make.  And it does ease my heart a little to think that he didn’t go picking the Dora shades indiscriminately and peremptorially.  He just went with whatever wasn’t Batman.  I’ve got to respect that kind of dedication to the team. 

Additional postscript: I don’t think I’ll ever have a better opportunity to share the following Zachisms.  They won’t really replicate the whole Zachtastic experience for you, but they’ll give you a sense of just how painfully cute he can be sometimes:
* Instead of saying “mine” he often says “myse” - as in “yours and myse.”
* “Me no like some.”
* He still combines “mommy” and “daddy” into a single all-purpose appellation: “mah-dy.”
* He really wanted a nutcracker around xmas time.  He calls them “crackanuts.”
* Also around xmas, he was very interested in all the angel imagery.  All angels were referred to as “that guy.”
* Any car resembling our car is “our car.” Our actual car is distinguished as “my our car.”
* If he’s completed any noteworthy act, he gives himself a little fanfare by singing “ta dah dah.” It’s the extra “dah” that kills me.
* If I make him laugh, he tells me of my comic genius by saying “You me funny.”
* Even though we just spent a whole day in his ancestral home, Zack continues to refer to the Disney rodent as “Pikamouse.”
* (My personal favorite:) If he likes something, he says it’s “good for me.” If he doesn’t like it, it’s “no good for me.” So, a plate of cauliflower au gratin: “No good for me.” An m&m he just found under the couch, half-eaten and linty, is “good for me.” Well, good for you, Zach!  Good for all of us!