Sam’s Story: Week 133

Often when I sit around and fantasize about being interviewed about this blog, I think of the question of how it has changed my relationship with my daughter. In my mind I lean back in an overstuffed chair, cross my legs, clench a pipe between my teeth, and gaze into the gently crackling fireplace for a moment before saying that it has made me more of an amature anthropologist working with a live subject. I pay attention to Sam’s new behaviors, note them when they emerge, and mark the passing of old ones.

I mean, let’s take a specific example: Samantha’s understanding of time. When she was younger, everything was in the moment out of necessity. Absolutely no thought went into the future and no brain power was spared to retain the past. It was ALL about processing and experiencing what was right in front of her at that second. This was, in a way, a very pure existance that I was sometimes jealous of. Even after she started talking, if you asked her what she did earlier that day, she’d probably give you a blank stare. Or she’d say something she had done days or weeks ago like “I went to the playground!” or “I stabbed the cat!”

Just in the last couple of weeks, though, I’ve noticed that Sam has tuned in to the concept of time. Now when I come home from work and ask her what she did, she’ll give me a report that is corroborated, usually, by Geralyn’s. She’ll now talk about a planned trip to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for days leading up to it, and yammer for days afterwords about what she did. And now if she tells me she stabbed the cat with her Winnie The Pooh fork, I can be pretty sure the wounds are still fresh.

This has, in fact, changed my life for one very important reason: Samantha now remembers promises I make her and she holds me to them. Yesterday morning, for example, I had gotten March of the Penguins from NetFlix and told Sam that we could watch it that afternoon after her nap. She alerted me to her nap’s end that day by shouting “I CAN WATCH THE MOVIE ABOUT THE PENGUINS NOW!” through the baby monitor.

And can we take a moment while we’re on the topic and discuss how if you’re planning on showing this movie to your two-year old you might want to reconsider? Not too far into the flick Sam and I were smiling and watching the titular birds start their trek to the breeding grounds when the camera cut to a lone penguin separated from the herd, shuffling and scooting across the ice. Sam glanced at me and asked “And what’s that penguin doing, Daddy?”

Before I could respond, Morgan Freeman broke in with his the dulcet tones and said something along the lines of “But for the ones who start the journey too late, the winter’s chills are harsh and chances of survival are remote.” Then, quick cut to a close up shot of a penguincicle -horrible, dead, and frozen solid.

Sam paused for a beat, then turned to me and said “What’s he doing now?”

I had just a second to consider what my answer would be. Should I lie? Should I tell her the uncomfortable truth? “He’s sleeping,” I said. Turns out that my respite from teaching my kid the reality of death on the frozen tundra was short lived, though, as I was hard pressed to apply the same explanation a few scenes later when a father penguin drops his egg and watches it freeze solid in seconds. And the “sleeping” ruse was completely useless a few scenes after that when an errant penguin chick gets mauled and murdered by a sea gull.

But at least now that discussion with Sam about death and the circle of life is out of the way and I’ll never have to talk to her about it again. Whew!

And now, pictures.

I particularly like this shot because it looks like she’s posing for some film noir or pulp fiction paperback cover. And actually, she really was posing for me on that one, which is a rarity. This one is a close second, though. There’s nothing not to love about blowing bubbles on the back porch.