Wednesday, March 16, 2005
A Prayer for Max
I zone out--a lot, in fact. If you had asked me a couple of years ago whether I lived in a fog, I'd have vehemently denied it. I'd have professed to being keenly perceptive, to living in the moment. But that is not true, at least not all the time, and I know this now because I live with Max. Max notices things. He not only pays attention; he grasps concepts and sheds insight on his experience of the world.
Recently on the way to school, Max started to laugh. "Shady River?! That's a funny name for a street." "Why is that a funny name, Max?" "Because it's a street, not a river!"
I began to witness Max's powers of observation many months ago while we were listening to Lyle Lovett tunes. Lovett is known for his witty and sometimes mysoginistic lyrics, and the punch line of one of his songs is, "You can have my girl, but don't touch my hat." It never occured to me that those lyrics might register with Max until one day he protested: "No! You can have my hat, but don't touch my girl!" He still registers his objection almost every time he hears that song.
A couple of weeks ago, we were listening to A Prairie Home Companion when a lovely song, which is folksy allusion to the Aretha Franklin classic, began to play:
"Lights are on in the middle of the night
There’s a sick little child around
Momma said, “Papa, don’t you worry
I think her fever’s comin’ down.
Yes, I know, it’s just a cold or it’s just the flu
But I say a little player, say a little prayer for you
I say a little player, say a little prayer for you
Let her get better, let her get better soon, please do."
Max piped up from the back seat, "That girl is sick and her mommy wants her to get better!"
"Mama’s been walkin’ with ya’
Papa’s been walkin’ with ya’
Walkin’ up and down the hallway
Look out the window
See the city lights a-shinin’
When you’re sick you look so tiny
I wanna put you in my pocket
Take you down to where it’s warmer
Gonna throw you in the ocean
And you will turn into a dolphin
And when you get all better
You will swim back to me."
"Turn into a dolphin? That's silly!"
For several days, Max asked repeatedly for the "get better" song, and we'd sing the chorus to each other in the car. I even pulled it up online, much to his delight. (If you'd like to hear the entire tune for yourself, go to www.prairiehome.publicradio.org/programs/2005/2/26. It's in Segment 7.) And then he moved on to other things.
This morning, Max was wracked with a terrible cough, perhaps from the clouds of yellow pollen wafting through the spring air. He looked at me earnestly and said, "Mommy, I feel a little sick. Would you say a prayer for me?"
P.S. For the curious among you who are thristing for an example of how I zone out, here's a recent one: As I was getting ready for bed this evening, something about my toothbrush didn't feel quite right. That's when I discovered that I was using Max's toothbrush--the one with Dora the Explorer and Boots the Monkey on the handle in multi-colored, plastic relief. You'd think I might have noticed that before I got started....
Recently on the way to school, Max started to laugh. "Shady River?! That's a funny name for a street." "Why is that a funny name, Max?" "Because it's a street, not a river!"
I began to witness Max's powers of observation many months ago while we were listening to Lyle Lovett tunes. Lovett is known for his witty and sometimes mysoginistic lyrics, and the punch line of one of his songs is, "You can have my girl, but don't touch my hat." It never occured to me that those lyrics might register with Max until one day he protested: "No! You can have my hat, but don't touch my girl!" He still registers his objection almost every time he hears that song.
A couple of weeks ago, we were listening to A Prairie Home Companion when a lovely song, which is folksy allusion to the Aretha Franklin classic, began to play:
"Lights are on in the middle of the night
There’s a sick little child around
Momma said, “Papa, don’t you worry
I think her fever’s comin’ down.
Yes, I know, it’s just a cold or it’s just the flu
But I say a little player, say a little prayer for you
I say a little player, say a little prayer for you
Let her get better, let her get better soon, please do."
Max piped up from the back seat, "That girl is sick and her mommy wants her to get better!"
"Mama’s been walkin’ with ya’
Papa’s been walkin’ with ya’
Walkin’ up and down the hallway
Look out the window
See the city lights a-shinin’
When you’re sick you look so tiny
I wanna put you in my pocket
Take you down to where it’s warmer
Gonna throw you in the ocean
And you will turn into a dolphin
And when you get all better
You will swim back to me."
"Turn into a dolphin? That's silly!"
For several days, Max asked repeatedly for the "get better" song, and we'd sing the chorus to each other in the car. I even pulled it up online, much to his delight. (If you'd like to hear the entire tune for yourself, go to www.prairiehome.publicradio.org/programs/2005/2/26. It's in Segment 7.) And then he moved on to other things.
This morning, Max was wracked with a terrible cough, perhaps from the clouds of yellow pollen wafting through the spring air. He looked at me earnestly and said, "Mommy, I feel a little sick. Would you say a prayer for me?"
P.S. For the curious among you who are thristing for an example of how I zone out, here's a recent one: As I was getting ready for bed this evening, something about my toothbrush didn't feel quite right. That's when I discovered that I was using Max's toothbrush--the one with Dora the Explorer and Boots the Monkey on the handle in multi-colored, plastic relief. You'd think I might have noticed that before I got started....
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