He looked at me, brown hair nearly in his pale eyes, speaking with the earnestness of a 3 year old who will not be deterred. He’s holding an expensive, battery operated toy.
“I can’t wait to open this.”
After a health crisis erupted in his family last night, my wife and I, a decade after we dealt with our own 3 year old, are suddenly caring for our nephew, all bony legs and certainty in the early morning hours. He had coped marvellously with waking up to his aunt where Mommy should have been, and now here we were, making a run to the colors and sounds and mercantile madness of our local Target, needing the fruit snacks and apple juice that no longer populate our house.
We get into line, neither of us having slept well after the sudden events, smiling at his enthusiasm for this new adventure he’s on. He doesn’t really know, and can’t fully understand, why Mommy and Daddy aren’t home.
“Can I open it now?”
“No,” my wife warns. “When we get back to our house.”
He doesn’t need another toy or more DVDs. His parents, if not otherwise engaged, would tell me this- he doesn’t need it, and they don’t want to have to store it. But something about this situation and his eagerness puts the toys into the cart. It’s a horrible lesson- spending money makes you feel good! – but my sympathy overcomes my wisdom.
That, and my weakness.