Kids Column with Notes

Kid is both annoying, endearing

By Kelvin Wade
October 15, 2009 2:35PM

I've never wanted to have children. I've never really been impressed by the so-called miracle of childbirth. How can it be a miracle if it happens a zillion times a day all over the world? Aren't miracles rare?

If two distantly related, half-educated, drunken hillbilly teens can make a baby by accident in the back seat of a rusted out Ford in their trailer park in the sticks, (pardon my grammar) that ain't no miracle.

But through happenstance, my significant other has two grandkids, 12-year-old Lauryn and 4-year-old Vika. Lauryn is her own Chinese puzzle box but this column is about Vika.

I met Vika when his family moved here from North Carolina when he was 17 months old. In no time, I found myself tasked with changing his diaper. The last time I'd seen anything that remotely looked like that diaper, it was coming out of Linda Blair's mouth in 'The Exorcist.'

Matters didn't improve when Vika sneezed and while I was looking for some Kleenex, he took it upon himself to wipe his nose up and down my arm. I squealed like Mariah Carey on helium.

To my knowledge, in his nearly five years on the planet, Vika has never had a haircut. His hair trails down his back and frames his angelic face like a mane. It's his trademark. Of course, that means that most people who see him assume that he's a she. Who knows? There may be a Samson effect going on because he's unusually strong for a 4-year-old.

His strength comes in handy when I put the tyke to work around the house. What are children if they're not our servants?

Vika is fearless, emulating his idol, Spiderman, by leaping off my loveseat and armchair, landing catlike on the floor. Well, most of the time. Sometimes he executes brutal looking faceplants in the carpet.

Vika hasn't mastered his pronouns yet, often referring to his sister as 'he' or 'him.' One day I was driving us to the park and Vika exclaimed, 'Oooh, she took off her shirt!' We almost had an accident as my head whiplashed around to get a look.

It was a guy.

'He, Vika. He took off his shirt.'

The boy drives me crazy. He won't stop talking. He won't stop talking even when he has nothing to say, punctuating the air with endless 'ums' and 'uhs' as audio placeholders while he thinks of new things to talk about.

Forget waterboarding. Hop this boy up on chocolate and turn him loose in a room with an al-Qaida terrorist and he'd break him with his endless chatter.

But just when I think he's confirmed all of my fears and reticence about having children and I'm ready to duct tape him to a chair, he'll crawl up onto my big recliner and hug me, kiss my cheek and say, 'Now tell me you love me.' And I melt.

This is my birthday weekend and under normal circumstances, I'd be planning all kinds of debauchery but the main thing I'm focused on is taking Vika to see 'Where The Wild Things Are.' He's been eager to see it for weeks.

They're still not a miracle. But they're growing on me. Peace.

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NOTES: The grandkids are the defining feature of my life right now. They are adorable kids and their activities, and proclivities are probably no different from any other brother and sister out there. Because their well-being is something that preoccupies my thoughts these days, I had to express it both in this column and in the blog.

Of course, the two entries are entirely different. I wanted to do something lighter for the column and in the blog, I wanted to express something darker, more difficult. They don't reflect any preference for one child over the other. It's just that a 12 year old girl presents different challenges than a 4 year old boy. And I'm no expert in child rearing so I'm cribbing from my parents' notes. I'm employing some things Tony has done in the great job he's done (and still doing) raising his daughter, Kaci.

I wanted to blog about Lauryn and guns last week but I was too close to the situation. At the time, it seemed like a cosmic test that I had failed. I was angry and disillusioned. Cathi helped me screw my head back on tight and get back in the game. i had to realize that I'm only one of the factors that influences her behavior, that there are many competing ones that I'm up against...that all parents are up against.

But there are challenges that are too personal to go into here that makes this all the more difficult.

It goes without saying that I love these children. But how my mother handled five boys, I'll never know.

You can read the blog by clicking HERE.