Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Patron Saint of superstitious people

Many years ago in England, I gave my daughter a St. Christopher’s medal, a very small one on a fine golden chain. To my surprise, she wore it. She always wore it. Soon after that, we began to travel, or rather move lock stock and barrel to the United States. Subsequently, as she became an adult, she traveled even further a field, to China, Tibet, Mozambique. I had forgotten about that little medal. I had no idea that it traveled with her.




My son cycles through his current favourite scripts. Because they are scripts, they are word perfect with no detectable speech delay. Because they are acquired from here and there, they demonstrate a wide range of accents and emphasies. He voices his scripts as he plays a Wii game with enraptured, high energy joy, oblivious to everyone and everything around him. Whilst he plays I go about my evening chores, a combination of laundry and cookery when my daughter appears, “I’ll do that for you mum.”
“I think I got some flour on those dark jeans.”
“Ah, it’ll brush off.”
“Don’t try this at home!” he chants.
“It’s so easy to sort and fold the laundry now.”
“Oh that’s very kind of you dear, but you don’t need to bother, I’ll do it in a minute. Don’t you need to finish your packing?”
“Batteries not included!” he shouts.
“Nope. The back packs full. I’m happy to help, especially now that it’s so much easier?”
“Easier?”
“French Fries! Get your French Fries here!”
“Yes, everything of yours is sludge coloured and everything of hers is pink.”
“Hmm yes, it is a worrying trend.”
“Be a man no more, be an ape.”
“The sludge? Got to be expected at your age.”
“Actually I meant the pink.”
“Got to be expected at her age.”
“Whacked out on Vicodin!”

I reflect upon this conversation the next day, in the utility room. I empty the washing machine after dropping her at San Francisco airport for her flight to Australia. I lift out the little medal and turn to see Nonna hovering, “ooo gawd!” she flutters, as I hold it out for her to see in the palm of my hand. She steps back into the kitchen to grab the cruet, “ere, throw some salt over your shoulder, quick! I won’t tell anyone! Ave another Vicodin and stop it wiv your worrying.”

8 comments:

Kelley said...

Australia?

Awesome!

The 'whacked out on vicodin' cracked me up. We have very much the same scenario here. But at the moment, it is in Hebrew. Cause the boy is all over the Hebrew right now.

Osh said...

When St Christopher was fired, my grandfather quit going to church...dark day in our family.

Safe travel thoughts to your daughter.

Tanya @ Teenautism said...

My boss is in Australia right now -says it's gorgeous! Hope your daughter has a fabulous time.

"Whacked out on Vicodin" - I always wonder where the kids get some of these phrases!

Marita said...

Lovely time of year to be visiting Australia. I hope she enjoys it here and has a safe trip.

Kaber said...

your blog is always entertaining! conor has his scripts he cycles through. He starts out being word perfect, then he changes it- but it's the same tone and voicing. one of ihs latests was from the song Whip-It. He'd sing Whip It- Whip it Good!- all the time- which soon got changed to ALL VERBS- anytime he said a verb (or I did) it's be the same sing song voice with the humming. Sleep It, Sleep it Good!- Eat it- Eat it Good!

Kaber said...

(and Connor's other thing is speaking in Spanish. He has a handfull of Spanish Words he always uses and a couple Spanish Phrases he says over and over)

Barbara said...

St. Barbara was booted with St. Christopher, but she continues to be patroness of the US Field Artillery. Traditions and talismans die hard.

So will you trust to mail it to her, or keep it safe until her return? Either way, you will have to trust whoever in heaven is represented by St. Chris - and knock on wood, too.

Thank goodness Nonna is watching-out close-by.

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