Out of the Mouths of Babes

The door to the bookstore chimed, I looked up, and there she was. A petite brunette, four feet tall, perhaps, exuding quiet energy that is youth.

“Erm……is Harrison here?” She smiled shyly.

I glanced out the door and saw a car parked out front with the engine running. Did I forget my eleven-year-old has a play date? Is he supposed to be somewhere for baseball/swimming/Tae Kwon Do or a birthday party? I went through our schedule in my head quickly and couldn’t come up with anything.

“No……he’s not. And you are……?”

“My name is Chloe*. I was in Harrison’s class.”

“Oh, really? Ooh…….I bet you could tell me stories about Harrison, couldn’t you?” I smiled. Trust me, I wasn’t trying to put her on the spot. After numerous conversations throughout the school year with his teachers and the vice principal, I already knew most, if not all of the “stories” about Harrison at school.

“Yeah.” Completely at ease at having a conversation with me. “But I’m not going to tell you the incident about the dog.” Her eyes grew large as she realized what she just said. “EEEEPS!” She clasped her hands onto her mouth.

I laughed. “Too late now! You better spill!”

That led to a few minutes of conversation about their teachers and curriculum while whoever it was waited patiently in the car outside. I was utterly smittened by Chloe’s precociousness and warm personality. She handled her end of the conversation eloquently without the usual “you know, like” or one-word dead-end answers.

Just when I was debating whether I should type up a marriage contract, she cocked her head, looked at me with complete innocence, and asked:

“Are you his mother or sister?”

THAT’S IT!!!! We’re signing the contract today!!!

It took all I could muster not to laugh out loud.

“I’m his mother.”

“Oh.” She nodded with all seriousness.

For fear that whoever was in the car was going to bill me for gas if we converse any longer, I told Chloe I would let Harrison know she stopped by. She smiled politely, waved, and was gone.

I don’t think I will ever get used to the innocence that comes out of the mouth of babes. What I find particularly challenging are questions that require answers, like the ones my eight-year-old like to catch me off-guard with at the oddest moments: “What’s a comb-over?” “If Moms are the ones who get pregnant, why do we need Dads?” “Why can’t Dad sleep in my room and I sleep with you in yours?” “YOU SHAVE YOUR ARMPITS?!”

I recall finding a quiet and sullen-looking Harrison at the dining table one day. He had a slight crease between his brows and was apparently deep in thought. He was around five at the time, what in the world could have been so worrisome to him?

“What’s going on?”

“Mom, when I grow up, I’m going to marry a woman.”

“Right.” So far so good.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

“Okay….” Uh oh. Is it the birds & the bees? He’s only five! What should I do?? Where’s my husband when you need him?!

“We have to live with you or maybe build a house next door and we could all live together because because BECAUSE…..”

I was at the edge of my seat as his little voice got higher and the crease between his brows deepened.

“…..BECAUSE I CAN’T DRIVE AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO GET TO THE HOSPITAL!!!”

Took me awhile to convince him that by the time he’s an adult, he would have had a driver’s license and would certainly know the route to the hospital.

Aaaah, if only such innocence lasts and that our biggest worry in life is whether we can find our way to the nearest delivery room.

Dorothy

*Name changed to protect identity.