The Things Kids Think and Assorted Irrelevancies

Dyzegotheca, Not Marijuana

Kids think surprising things.  I remember asking Milly whether she was hurting the butt of the pot-bellied stove in our Coos Bay house when she scraped out the ashes.  She explained that it was not a living thing.  When I was about 6, some kidnapping was in the news, and I became terrified of kidnappers.  "They only kidnap the children of rich people, and we aren't rich," she explained, to reassured me.
     Sandy understood that babies developed inside their mother's bellies, but she wanted to know how they got out. Milly explained, somewhat tersely, that there was a passage between the mother's legs. Sandy was still curious. "Can I see?" she asked.  The answer was a quick and clear answer, "No!"
     Mark was intrigued with the idea of giving birthday gifts, and ran outside to catch some ladybugs for Vake the Elder for his birthday.  He caught one additional that he said was a "Man bug."
     "How do you know it's a man bug," everybody asked.
      "Because it's not a ladybug."  Obviously.
     My son Eric was clearly influenced by being brought up in a lawyer's home.  He asked, "My bike was in the driveway and it was fine.  Then Bernie was out there, and now the tire is flat. Is that probable cause?" He reported that the neighbor, Bernie's father, had marijuana in his garage, and wanted to know if we should call the police. I tried to explain that sometimes, it's better to let a violation pass instead of creating an issue with the neighbors.  "Besides," I asked, "How do you know its not just dyzigotheca?" Eric was condescending.  "Mom," he said, "You don't hand dyzigotheca upside down to dry!"
      It was the early '80s and Brook was in middle school. Everybody wore long hair except for the boy sitting in front of him in class, who had been buzzed.  The boy's name was "Herbie," but Brook heard "Herpes,' and was still laughing when he got home.
     Sandy and I were shopping in Safeway in Florence, OR, and Sandy's daughter Leslie was along.  She saw Sandy's very ancient second-grade teacher, Miss Porter, and piped up with one of those children's voices that carries to every corner of a room, " Wow, she must be really old!"
     Miss Porter was eccentric. When the Superintendent of Schools Richard Schollenberger was showing some financial types around the community, in hope of raising a bond issue, they passed Miss Porter along side of the road, dragging home some scrap lumber she had collected from a demolition site.  He pretended not to know her. Late in her life, Miss Porter bought a car and learned to drive. Just outside of Florence, OR, she had a flat tire. Some of her former students, now teenagers, saw her and stopped to help.  She took one look at boys in shorts and sunglasses, jumped in her car, and drove off, flat tire and all.
     A friend of Brook's, a young lawyer, was exhausted by a weekend of playing Frisbee with Brook's team, but had to report to court on Monday.  He listened to the prosecutor yammer on and on about uncontested matters, then finally replied, "Well, that's a big DUH!"  I trust that the judge had kids, and understood him perfectly.
     Now Eric is dealing with how kids express themselves.  Richmond, Va conducted a military parade this year, and it came down the Boulevard, right in front of their house.  Eric propped Vake up onto his shoulders, and the three-year-old  watched the whole parade, waving a flag, and seeing the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps, a drum and bugle corps, and a long line of fire engines.  Later, when Eric put him down for his nap, he asked Vake, "What part of the parade did you like best:"  Vake answered, "The white guys."  Eric believes he meant the Navy uniforms. He hopes.