EVENT 1 – GIRL
My daughter has this really old, bald Cabbage Patch doll that she carries around with her everywhere. Its’ plastic head is covered in dirt and scuff marks, it’s clothes are covered in food stains, dried milk and dog drool and it has these really horrific eyes that sort of do this lazy open-and-close movement when you shake it. The only thing that makes The Doll or “Baby” as she calls it, more disturbing is finding it floating face up in the washing machine unexpectedly on laundry day.
She carries the thing everywhere, chanting, “Baby, baby, baby, baby”. If she can’t find it she walks around chanting, “Baby, baby, baby, baby?” with a question mark on the end. She goes to bed with it, eats with it, rides around in the car with it, etc, etc, etc. If my daughter does it, there’s a good chance that her filthy friend will be by her side, dangling loosely from her hand, upside down, it’s head bouncing casually off the floor as she walks, thunk-thunk-thunk.
It was a gift from my sister and her fiance about three months ago; a gift I assumed, due to it’s obvious “used” feel that it had come from Goodwill after being donated by a little girl who’s only crime was loving too hard. Today I found out that statement was only half right.
My to-be brother-in-law has a daughter named Kayden that will come and stay with him and my sister on occasion… and apparently she has her own room in the house… and apparently this room is filled with her own personal belongings… and apparently one day, this daughter came to stay with my sister and her dad… and apparently the little girl came upstairs and asked them, in the most casual of tones, “Have either of you seen my doll?”
EVENT 2 – BOY
Changing my son into his pajamas last night, I noticed that his entire body is covered in wounds; cuts, scrapes bruises, scabs, bumps and the like. This kid looks like some irresponsible parent tossed him into a barrel and sent it rolling down a hill, end over end.
I look over at my daughter, who my wife is changing and I notice that she looks… well, she looks pristine. She’s nice and shiny and polished. I look back at my son and he looks like a dirty carnival toy that someone has left lying in the gutter. And I mean that in the best way possible. Someone once asked me if I knew, outside of the obvious, what the main difference between boys and girls was. I told him, “No. What?” and, after pausing for effect he says, “About five to six bruises”.
It’s not that we don’t take care of him or that he is somehow just “The Dirty Kid in Class”, he just loves to adventure and, like we tell him whenever he gets hurt and comes running and crying to us with a new wound, “When you adventure, you get hurt. Do you think Indiana Jones walked out of The Temple of Doom without a scratch?”
OOPS! And with that, I have to go. My son literally just fell out the front door.