Battles He Won

 

The photograph is somewhat faded from its original bright colors. It’s almost sixty years old so it’s no wonder. The framed picture sits proudly on my mirrored vanity facing me as I write, paint and even zoom. That gorgeous five-year-old was a handful the day the photo was taken. He is seated on the rug in the living room in front of the fireplace clad in his high fashion Merry Mite (vintage today) striped corduroy overalls and white Peter Pan colored shirt. Perfect attire for the family photographs. Sam, our friend and professional photographer is arriving shortly, and our son Carl’s tantrums are mounting. The problem is our child refuses to remove the big red cowboy hat. Yes, it’s okay to be holding a pretend cigarette; yes, you can be holding your favorite storybook. The big red cowboy hat has to come off for the photos. Well, there’s the picture on my mirrored vanity; cowboy hat is on. What a battle preceded, “Say cheese, smile.” Carl is triumphantly seated; he won the battle. 

There’s no photo for another battle he won.

 I remember the shouting, the screaming, the tantrums, the delays. Oh well, we will be late again. Carl, our little five-year-old, was demanding his thing, “Even all around and equal to each other.” It would never be right. It could never be right. There was no such thing as right, except in his perception. Ben, my husband, tried. I tried. We both tried, again and again. It was also getting late and then later to get to Ben’s boss’s house for dinner. How could we resolve Carl’s demands when they were not based on any reality, mathematics or even esthetics? He had to have the cuffs on his dungaree’s folded up because they were too long. To avoid the expense of replacing his pants as he grew, they were a length he would grow into. Until that time, they had to be folded up and the cuffs had to be,” Even all around and equal to each other.” We never did satisfy this request and in retrospect, we probably got out of the house late by bribery or some other distraction or pacification. All of us the worse for wear and the cuffs as even all around and equal to each other as was humanly possible without the use of a ruler. 

Could it be that this difficult little boy was already thinking in mathematical terms which would lead to his MacArthur fellowship and his current work as a high energy physicist looking for top quarks? His first-grade teacher Mrs. Belle Simon (mother of Paul Simon of Simon and Garfunkel fame) got it right. At a parent-teacher conference, I told her Carl’s motor coordination was such that he couldn’t skip. She said, "Your little boy won’t have to skip in life. He’s going to fly."

Ethyl H.