Thor starts camp next week–his first real camp. Not daycare. Camp. He is delighted, as you can well imagine. Since the camp mascot is a Kookaburra, we have been listening to that Kookaburra song over, and over, and over again. And over again. And over again. The things you do for love, right?
I still really can’t believe how he makes my heart skip a beat. From the moment Bryan put him in my arms in the hospital…man. He just takes my breath away. Even when he is gnawing on my last nerve, I love him with every fiber of my being. This is very helpful when I have told him seven times to put on his shoes, and he is still sitting in the floor starting at his toenails.
Anyway, the Kookaburra song. “Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree. Merry, merry king of the bush is he. Laugh, Kookaburra. Laugh, Kookaburra. Gay your life must be.”
Thor asked me what gay meant. “Happy,” I said. “Dancing, singing, twirling around because life is so good, happy.”
“I like that,” he nodded.
“Me too,” I agreed. Then, we sang the song again before he headed to bed, taking with him my old comparative study bible. I wonder how old he will be when he starts putting two and two together, and asking questions about why the bible’s got a problem with dancing, singing, twirling around because life is so good, happy? We’ll have to talk about how the bible has problems with his love of crustaceans, too, and maybe that can throw the rest into perspective. Because that boy loves crab.
Meanwhile, I am anxiously awaiting the new vocabulary that will come with his reading of the King James version of the bible. And the New American Standard. And the Amplified. And the New International Version. Because that’s going to be spectacular! And hilarious. He’s already been reading the notes I wrote in the margins and shouting those out to me with his own added commentary. Lord. How am I going to explain concubines? I’m going to tell him they are a kind of porcupine, and old kings liked to keep them for pets.
I suppose we should censor his reading, but other than that CSB, he hasn’t shown an interest in any books that would alarm me. I’d rather our bookshelves be open to his whims. If he has questions, he’ll ask. And that way, he won’t feel like he needs to hide books he likes (like I hid James Bond.) Since my CSB was next to a huge collection of Douglas Adams, I’m hoping he’ll pick up the Hitchhiker’s Guide next. The only thing better than feeling gay, is being a hoopy frood.
The Outside Lane 