THE TALKER
To say that our son Ryan, and our daughter, Sidney, are different, would be akin to saying that an ostrich and a bald eagle are different. They are both human beings and birds respectively, but that’s where the similarities end. Ryan is to Sidney as a mime is to an auctioneer. Ironically enough, we have referred to Sidney as Duckie for most of her life, partly because as a baby, she resembled a tiny, yellow duck in one of her books, and partly because of the constant quack, quack, quacking.
Both kids are respectable, kind and nice. Both do well in school. Each of them participate in sports and have enjoyed some success at their chosen activities. Ryan is quiet, while Duckie is well, not so quiet. The boy is a strong believer in giving only the facts and necessary details, while Sidney is a strong believer of giving a myriad facts, details, snippets, replays, etc., which can drag on for hours. Once, while only five years old, she had commented that maybe a job in the ministry would suit her. Under normal circumstances, I would be delighted in said career path. In her case, not so much. Beef roasts would be set ablaze in ovens every Sunday for miles around. Long winded sermons have sent many a woman speeding home from church to rescue her slab of meat from a certain charred fate at the hands of a chirping, chiming windbag of the cloth. If our kids were to become famous authors, I could see Ryan enjoying huge success in the field of short stories, while Duckie, on the other hand, would certainly become a great novelist, accomplished in writing literature to rival War and Peace in length, or perhaps the Bible. Once, after asking her how her day at school was, she proceeded to tell me, in detail, everything that happened from when her feet hit the floor in the morning, until she charged through the door that evening. I had to excuse myself to shave during her story, and when I returned, she continued as if I’d never left. By the time she had finished, I could have easily shaved again. There are times though, when her information comes in handy. There is nothing mysterious about her.
Last summer, we decided to vacation in the northern part of Florida, which driving from our location in Virginia is quite an undertaking. Fourteen hours in the car with two restless, fighting children is in many ways a nearly insurmountable task. But, somehow we managed.
After the trusty SUV was loaded to the point that we‘d taken everything except the lawnmower, we set off in search of sun, fun, peace and … well you know. Sidney, who sat in the back seat directly behind my wife, immediately piped up. “Daddy? How long is it going to take to get there? Is it going to be super hot? How fast are you going to drive? I hope I don’t have to poop, I hate rest stop bathrooms! Why are we going to Florida anyway? Does it rain much where we’re going? I told my teacher before school let out that we were going on vacation, and did you know that there‘s another girl in my class that‘s going to Florida also…” she rambled, and then I pulled out of our driveway.
My wife and I have become very cautious when the need for one of us to speak arises. We have to wait for the child to take a breath, and jump in like a presidential candidate interrupting his opponent during a heated debate. “Did you remember to grab the camera from the kitchen table before we left,” my wife asked, while Sidney was catching her breath.
“Mom you’re just rude! I was speaking and you interrupted me!” she said, with glaring eyes.
“Did we forget Ryan?” I asked, while taking advantage of an opening to get a word in edgewise.
“No, he’s back there under the beach chairs and towels,” my wife answered, turning around just to make sure that we hadn’t forgotten the phantom child of ours. To be honest, he isn’t extremely quiet, but he’s learned, much as I have, to sit quietly and nod, occasionally opening his mouth to speak. Just because we open our mouths, doesn’t always mean that the opportunity to exercise our voice boxes will come to fruition.
“Hey dad, when we get there, can we…” Ryan attempted to say, from deep within the pile of ‘necessities’ we’d crammed into every available crack a crevice in the vehicle. He’d squandered his chance. It could be hours and miles before he got another shot at it. The Duck had cut him off, mid thought.
“I’m so sick of everyone interrupting me!” Sidney said, once again, as the three of us began to prepare our ears for miles and miles of stories, commentary, and jibber jabber from our ten-year-old walking, breathing, talking machine. “Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, there’s a girl in my class who’s also going to Florida, except she’s going to …”
During times like those, I simply let my mind wander to a quieter, gentler place. I began to imagine myself sitting in a lounge chair with a cold drink, watching the waves crash onto the beach. There were scantily clad women passing by, offering me the occasional smile. Families, happy to have left the hustle and bustle of daily life behind, skipped past me looking for shells and other treasures. There were Dolphins leaping from the water, happily swimming along without a care in the world.
“Helloooo! Anybody home?” my wife said, nudging me, as I snapped back to reality.
“What!?” I said, feeling let down that I suddenly had been plucked from my utopian existence and thrown back into the driver’s seat of a rolling tenement.
“Sidney’s been asking you a question for miles, and you just ignored her!” my sarcastic wife said, with a toothy grin.
“What is it honey?” I asked, watching the beach scene I had been imagining dissipate like the money in my wallet soon would.
“I’m hungry. Did you know that I’m sort of a vegetarian now? I even gave up chicken nuggets! I feel sorry for the animals, but I think some of the farmers are nice to them though…” Sidney said, as I exited the interstate and drove toward a restaurant that surely had some sort of vegetable bar. Aside from all of the talking, she also meant every word she said. If she’d suddenly became a vegetarian, then she WAS a vegetarian. McDonald’s simply would not do. She would pull this vegetarian stuff on us occasionally, mostly after viewing a commercial featuring pitiful looking animals in need of rescue.
We finished our meal and once again began the last leg of our journey south. Kristi, had drifted off to sleep in the seat beside me, Ryan was content in his secret compartment in the rear of the car and to my surprise, the Duck was quietly listening to music through her headphones. Once again, I found myself drifting back to the comfort of sitting low in a lounge chair, cold drink in hand, watching and listening to the waves crash as they rolled ashore. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the scantily clad women were still strolling past, and the dolphins had returned. I sank even lower in my seat, while a smile crept across my face, almost hypnotizing me as a gentle breeze tickled my nose. My feet were buried in the sand and…
“Daddy, are we there yet!? I’m sick of riding in this car, and Ryan’s kicking the seat. Tell him to stop! We should have left him home! I need to poop, but DON’T stop at a rest stop. It’s dirty and sometimes there’s no toilet paper, besides, now I’m thirsty and my water bottle is empty, so find a gas station! How fast are you going? Is mom asleep?” came a blast of questions, comments and suggestions from the curly haired Oprah Winfrey in the making. There’s no way the bikini clad women or the dolphins would still be waiting when I returned to my daydream, I thought. Hopefully, my lounge chair would still be there, as it was very comfortable.
“Ryan quit kicking the seat!” I said, half heartedly. I steered the car off the interstate and into the parking lot of a fairly respectable looking gas station, which upon a pre-poop inspection met Duckies requirements. Ryan remained buried in the rear of the car.
Again, we continued toward our destination and finally arrived with much fanfare, and stiff muscles from the extremely long ride.
We spent a week at a fine resort, and ate like we’d never be fed again. After a couple of brief disagreements with my wife, I thought that sure enough I wouldn’t ever be fed again, by her anyway. Living in close quarters for a week can do that to a couple sometimes. We fished, but didn’t catch much due to the fact that I am a living, breathing fish repellant. I’ve never worried about sharks much while swimming in the ocean, due to my uncanny ability to send all aquatic life speeding to distant waters. Ryan mastered the art of skim boarding, and Duckie talked and talked. All, and I do mean all, of the people staying at the resort knew her by name at weeks end.
On the last day of our vacation, Duckie asked me to walk with her to the pool for a quick swim before dinner. We entered the elevator, and were met by an elderly lady lugging a suitcase, who was clearly from somewhere abroad based on her thick accent and obvious lack of command at speaking English. “Well hello, Sidney, how are you? Are you and your father going for a swim?” the old lady said, with a bright smile, trying to get the words right.
“Yes ma’am we are. Have a nice trip home! It was nice meeting you!” my little loving talker said as we exited the elevator on the ground floor.
“Who was that!?” I asked incredulously, and amazed that she was on a first name basis with the stranger.
“Oh that’s Enga. She’s from Germany, and she’s here visiting her son. He’s a lawyer in Jacksonville, I think,” she answered. Duckie is a fine swimmer, and we felt comfortable letting her make the short trip to the pool alone, and the security was good, so that made our decision even easier. Apparently, she'd made a few new friends at the pool.
We entered the pool area and I felt as though Elvis had just arrived for a dip. Everyone, including kids, kid’s mothers, grandmothers, the lifeguard, the guy trimming the bushes, and the maintenance man all turned with wide smiles and greeted my little daughter. I didn’t know anyone, except for the guy trimming the bushes, and that was only due to our discussion earlier concerning college football. The Virginia Tech hat I’d worn had prompted him to strike up a conversation with me, but I still didn't know his name.
“Good luck in cheerleading this year Sidney! We’ve got to go in a few hours, but we’ll e-mail and keep in touch,” a little girl said to Duckie as she surfaced from a rather nice dive into the pool. Most of the people were leaving that day, but we’d decided to stay for one more night, since we weren’t ready to face reality so soon.
Finally, the next morning, we loaded the car again and began our long trek north to Virginia.
Duckie fastened her seatbelt and squirmed slightly in an attempt to make herself as comfortable as possible for the ride. I could see her in the mirror as I readied myself for what was sure to come. “Dad, can we fly next year? I hate this ride and besides, I like those little bathrooms on the plane.” The kid had checked out every bathroom we’d encountered in all of our travels over the years for some reason. “Are we going to stop overnight somewhere? I’m not ready to go home yet. I liked this place! It was nice! I hope I remembered to pack my snorkel and diving mask. Did you pack it mom? I’m hot, can you turn the air on please? But not too much, I don’t want to freeze. Don’t forget that I don’t like rest stop bathrooms, just in case I have to go. Oh, I’m not a vegetarian anymore. Mom, if a person eats seafood, are the still a vegetarian? Well, maybe I’m still a vegetarian…” And then I put the car in gear and exited resort’s parking lot.
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