I think of myself as Mark's personal assistant. My boss may be little, but he is outspoken. He debates even the simplest seemingly-non-debatable suggestions ("Why do I always have to wear clean socks??") and is shocked when I insist he repeat tasks on a daily basis ("Why do I have to feed the cats EVERY night?"). I've read that celebrity personal assistants also have immature, demanding clients but to them I say--"PFFFT!! Stop your whining, you get a paycheck and you can actually quit your job."
But my young prince himself likens me more to a court jester--someone whose sole purpose in life is to allay his boredom and keep him entertained.
Now this, as you may guess, is not a role I enjoy or encourage. I remind him that he does, indeed, possess an active imagination, an overstuffed bookcase, and a room full of toys, an observation that is met with the same blank stare every time.
Yesterday we went to lunch with some friends. It was a beautiful day, and afterwards, we decided to take the little water taxi around the bay. We waited for the boat, and I pointed out the little fish in the water and the big paddle boat moored beside us. Mark just shrugged.
Then the water taxi arrived. It cost two bucks, and lasted an hour--a pretty good deal, I thought. We putt-putted across the bay in a boat, and saw a seal sunning himself next to some giant pelicans. We saw an old Russian spy submarine, and a gigantic cruise ship with a twisty water slide on top. We saw people fishing, and having family picnics. We saw a bright yellow power speed boat. We saw the jutting downtown buildings and the coast all the way up to the pier and beyond. I thought it was pretty cool--definitely worth two bucks, and way more fun than sitting around the house doing nothing.
My bored son disagreed. The water taxi was only fun as long as he teetered precariously along the edge while I faced the other way. It was also fun when he provoked me into chasing him as he leapt from the back of the boat to the front. And of course, it was fun when he pretended to throw his plastic cup into the water so many times that Edra took it away from him.
But as soon as I strongly "invited" him to sit down and live (vs. running around and being strangled), the fun stopped. He looked at the captain and asked when the pilot was gonna start the boat again. He corrected himself--"I mean, the sailor"--but then decided it didn't matter what the guy was called, his job was obviously to torture Mark. All interest in the pilot/sailor ceased.
"Here we go!" I announced brightly when the sailor started the boat up again, but Mark was done. He laid down on the bench with great flourish, ensuring he could see nothing but my knees. And then, with a huge sigh, he rolled his eyes at me, and silently wished he was anywhere else in the world but on this boring boat.
Soon enough, we were home. Mark immediately asked if I wanted to play cards, or shoot baskets, or play something else. "I'm tired," I told him. "Go find something to play with."
And with that, my young child--the same boy I could not convince to sit anywhere near me on the boat--pouted and stomped off. "You NEVER want to play with me!" he hissed, and somewhere, I just knew there was a pilot/sailor shaking his head sadly.
No comments:
Post a Comment