This note was scribbled on a lined sheet of paper and placed on the tile facing the front door.
The reason for the note was clear.
All morning Calvin has been insisting that we were going to the game store to buy him a Cars game for the Wii.
He cried and moaned. Begged and whined. Was quiet for an hour when I told him to let me finish my coffee before I kill him.
I told him that we could go to the game store after mommy and grandma left and I had taken a shower.
He cried and moaned. Begged and whined.
And then I told him that if he cries one more time that we were not going to the game store at all.
He cried again.
No game store.
All hell broke loose in the visceral chaos that is the emotional state of a young child.
I told him that if he didn’t stop crying, not only would he get a spanking but I would also take the rest of his games back to the store.
He sobbed, but the tantrum quieted and I went to take a shower.
He was quietly racing his cars on the floor when I came out of my room. I poured myself another cup of coffee and puttered off to my studio.
After about twenty minutes I realized the house was too quiet, and since silence can be a greater harbinger of doom than the most symphonic temper tantrum, I went to investigate.
Laying on the tiled floor was the hand written note.
“Mommy i wot you to tac me to the game stor”
For those of you who have never ushered a child through reading and writing, here is the loose translation:
“Mommy, I want you to take me to the game store”
My heart stopped a bit.
I let out an uncomfortable cackle.
“Dad?” his little now-angelic voice muttered from his room.
“Calvin?” I whispered.
“What?”
“Did you write this?”
“mmm hmm.”
“huh.” I whispered to myself.
“I left it for mommy cause I want her to take me to the game store.”
“That much I got. But did you just write this while daddy was in the garage?”
“mmm hmm.”
“Huh.” I muttered again. I laid the note back down on the floor so that mommy would indeed see it by the time she got home.
I’m at a complete loss for words. Calvin has been going to kindergarten for three months. I know he knows his letters, I know he can recognize a few words like AND, and THE, but here’s where is gets weird . . .
How the fuck did he learn how to spell GAME?
How the fuck did he learn how to write words by sounding them out like TAC (take) and STOR (store)?
And aside from the absence of a comma, how the fuck did he learn how to construct a perfect full sentence?
Now here’s where it gets weirder . . .
How does a five year old have the presence of mind in order to figure out alternative methods of communication when the person in question will not be home for several hours?
This is the same snot monkey that minutes before was throwing himself on the floor screaming and crying because I had no intention of spoiling him any further that day.
The intelligence of the act didn’t startle me. He’s a smart kid. And when he wants something, or when he gets something in his head, he is virtually unstoppable. And I am sure that there are parents of five year olds that could attest that their little darlings where writing full sentences and composing mini operas at the age of three, so I’m sure he falls a little short on the baby genius scale.
What really got to me was the speed of evolution.
What scares me is the depth of his obsession.
How did he so quickly change tactics from violent temper tantrum to written word logic? He even switched targets when he realized that I was immovable in my decision. (Which, for whatever its worth, is probably the first thing every child learns. If I can’t get it from mommy, I’ll go to dad, and vice versa)
But he did it with such astonishing fluidity.
I did note that he failed to write PLEASE. So not only is his genius driven by obsessive compulsion, but he’s also a little rude about it.
So mommy and grandma got home and found the message. We all had a good laugh. Albeit slightly uncomfortable laugh cause we just didn’t know what to make of it.
And then the matter was forgotten.
Or was it?
This morning, in between mouth-fulls of microwavable pancakes, Calvin mentioned that maybe today we could get dressed and go to the video game store.
This was pre coffee mind you, so I stared at him for a moment and told him that maybe we can.
“But only if I’m a good boy, and there’s no crying or whining?” he said.
“Uh Huh.” I replied.
“How bout this, how bout this, you have your coffee, dad, how about this, you have your coffee, then take a shower . . . you have your coffee, then take a shower, then we put our clothes on, then we go to the game store, then we go to the store and buy that game.” he said in the most straight forward voice he could muster.
(Side note: I love listening to him formulate a plan. He seems to start the idea, but once he realizes he has my attention, he forgets exactly what he meant to say and then has to rethink it on the fly. Hence the repeating of key concepts.)
“Why don’t we just wait and if you’re a good boy, maybe Santa will get you that game for christmas?”
“But that’s too long.” he said in surprise.
“Don’t you start crying again.” I said.
“Okay, but how bout this, you take a shower, then we put on our clothes, then we go to the game store, we go to the game store and see if they have that game, and if they don’t have that game maybe we’ll ask santa to get it for me for christmas. How does that sound? Does that sound good?”
“How bout this,” I replied. “I’m gonna go in the garage and write for a little while, then I’m gonna take a shower, then we’ll get dressing and then daddy has to go to work for a little while, and then if you’re really really good, we might go to the game store and see if they have that game. How does that sound?”
“Okay.” he said with a chipper but slightly unsatisfied breath.
So daddy went into the garage and started writing. A few paragraphs into this very blog, the phone rings. It was my wife.
“Did you text me that funny text?” she asked.
“What? No. I’ve been in the garage. Did you get a text?” I wondered over to my iPhone, turned it on and opened up the messaging app.
“Holy shit!” I said.
“Anyway, my lunch is at noon. We’ll talk about this when I get there.” She said and then hung up.
Here is the exact thing I saw on my phone. You’ll notice “My One True. . .” title. That’s because the ID I have for my wife is “My One True Love.” so as not to confuse her with any other Joann, and accidentally send dirty stuff to someone else. You can also see the shopping items she asked me to get for cookies the night before.
He doesn’t know how to use the space bar. And a nice dyslexic error has him using “Y” in stead of “A” And he has replaced the sweet sounding “mommy” for the more formal “mom”, but the message is clear.
The message is clear . . .
