Pretty soon, I’ll be step-mother to three wonderful children. Two girls, aged 15 and six, and one boy, age four. Now is the right time to assign code names to these kids. As mentioned in previous blogs, the 15-year-old young miss is known to the internet as the Champion Teenager. Her younger sister shall be called Exquisite Banana (based on a true nickname). And the boy shall hereafter be referred to as Wunderkind the Magnificent.
I have many cool/fascinating/funny/lovely stories about all three of these astro-kids. But today I want to focus a bit on Wunderkind the Magnificent and his interaction with my nephew Peyton, whose internet code name would probably be Hot Dog King, if I were to assign him one. Wunderkind (step-son) and Peyton (nephew) are the same age. That is, they are both four-year-olds.
The boys are the same size and stature. Their talents and attributes, although different, probably just about equalize them as well. For instance, Wunderkind is utterly fearless where Peyton is kind of a ‘fraidy cat. But Peyton can probably beat Wunderkind in a footrace (if you could ever get them to concentrate long enough to participate in such a competition).
These differences are unimportant because when these two dudes get together, they become a give-and-take power team, spinning around the room/yard/car inside what appears to be an invisible universe that only they can see. They’re encapsulated by some imagined force where adults are neither acknowledged nor welcome unless the two warriors should need sustenance or DVD player assistance.
At Wunderkind’s recent birthday party, he and Peyton had a skirmish over who got the Power Ranger sword and who got the cool Power Ranger glove thingy that had a noise-maker on it so the hero wearing it could zap (and KILL) villains at the push of a button. Apparently, the glove thingy was the weapon of choice, and the two boys could not agree on who should rightfully possess it. I stood a few feet away from them in the yard as they debated the issue.
Wunderkind argued the obvious: that the toys were his brand new birthday presents. You know, the classic "mine" argument. Nephew Peyton never heard those words, let alone the logic, as he repeated the shout "Give it to me! I
had this one!" He didn’t bother noting whether he’d had the toy
first or not - just that he
had it.
The argument lost a little steam when Peyton brought his A game and a little bargaining action. "You let me play with this one right now, and you play with the sword. And then when I git done, we’ll switch." Wunderkind, whose inclination for biting I’ve experienced first hand, balled his fists and looked down at the ground. It was hard to tell whether he was seriously pondering Peyton’s deal or bracing against the unleashing of his inner-beast.
After a moment, Wunderkind said "no, give it."
At that point I got caught up in a conversation with someone and lost track of the boys’ argument. But a few minutes later I noticed they had made their way to the opposite end of our 1.65 acres and were standing side-by-side along the barbed wire fence that separates our lawn from a cow pasture. By the looks of it, poor Wunderkind had lost the battle entirely. He stood weaponless with his head hung low. The victorious Peyton was both wearingthe glove thingy and brandishing the sword. In contrast to his fallen comrade, Peyton’s little chest swelled as he gazed reflectively at the tall weeds and cattle just beyond the barbs. From afar, I saw my step-son, Mini General Lee, surrender to my nephew, Mini General Grant after a hard-fought battle at Appomattox. It was sad and touching.
Peyton even extended his chubby little hand in sympathy. I imagined him saying "It’s okay [Wunderkind], you gave ‘em hell. I vow to be civilized in my terms of surrender."
I was completely captivated by the dramatization, pointing out the stoic generals to other party-goers and creating fake dialogue for them.
Suddenly, it hit me. Instead of standing back and watching all this unfold as though it were a Lil’ Tyke soap opera performed for my amusement, I should probably be reprimanding my nephew for his overlord behavior and remind the boys of the importance of sharing.
I marched down to the fence line to do my faux-motherly duties just as Nephew General Grant made a shrieking noise and ran full-tilt for the trampoline, dropping the sword along the way. I ran him down, swooped him up and gave him my ineffective spiel on sharing. Then I forcibly removed the glove thingy from his hand as he protested loudly with mighty kicks. Meanwhile, Wunderkind came moping up behind us carrying the sword pinched disgustedly between his index finger and thumb and held at arm’s length as though it were a tainted object. I made them trade toys, and then had to keep my eye on Peyton for a few minutes due to multiple, rapid-fire attempts at stealing the glove thingy back.
There’s not much of an ending to this story. Peyton went home about ten minutes after the battle. And Wunderkind had to put all his toys away within the hour in preparation for the return to his mother’s house.
Someday I’d like to put a tape recorder in the room with Wunderkind the Magnificent and Peyton the Hot Dog King to see what they’re talking about when no one’s around. It’s probably mostly repetitious, boring cartoons-based material. "And then Sponge Bob went whoosh!" (Pause for laughter). "Power Rangers! Unite!" (Pause for awe and amazement). "You can poop in the bathroom." (Pause for agreement).
But I really like to think they make the occasional Civil War reference, even if it’s just by total accident.
