That Old Buddy
Monday, May 21, 2012
“Do you want blueberry or raspberry yogurt for breakfast?” Collette asked Puck.
“Hmmm… Raspberry. For the Cardinals.”
Monday morning began awaiting MRI news regarding the future of Lance Berkman’s tenured career. All the reports already had him sentenced to a torn ACL early retirement package.
Puck’s perspective, however, was resigned either way…
“Sometimes God wants them to work, and sometimes he doesn’t. That’s just how life works. Just don’t get sad, Mom. That’s how life works. Just don’t get super sad. He may never sign me up again, Mom. I feel sad for that old buddy. I just feel sad for him.”
– He walked determinedly from the kitchen where he lifted his Lance Berkman autographed baseball from the piano. –
“This ball that he signed for me will remind me of him. I feel bad for him, that old man. Hmmm… this will remind me of him… He was a good player. Now we only have Yadi to pitch for us… [Please, God, don’t let him leave.] I prayed for God to not make him leave. Because if he did, life wouldn’t work for us anymore, would it?”
The morning pressed on…
Puck took his gorilla puzzle to the sunshine-drenched table, talking to himself, Antiques Roadshow style…
“This puzzle was made in the 1800’s.”
Meanwhile, Donkey was starting to smell funny again. It was time for a whirl in the jacuzzi. Puck showed concern…
“Do you want me to drop him in for you?” Collette asked.
Puck stood up resolutely…
“Since I’m his daddy, I should do it.”
He marched down to the already spinning washing machine. Plop into the soapy goodness. Puck kept vigil on the staircase…
“You get ready for the dryer too, Donkey. That won’t hurt a bit. Be brave, Donkeeeeeey. I love you so much, but you really need a bath.”
Back upstairs…
“I love you so so so so much, Mama. More than God. Oh! I mean, I love God more than you,” he giggled. “And you love God more than me, right?”
“Uh huh…”
“Well, that isn’t very nice, I think.”
“I love you tons, buddy. I will love you more and more every day. But I have to love God more than you. Anything you love more than God turns into an idol.”
“They would be false gods, right?”
“Right. And I can’t be your false god. And you can’t be mine, right?”
“No,” Puck chuckled, satisfied with the explanation.
Puck’s knees were displaying large red scraped blotches from Saturday’s tear-less trip down the garden path.
“Sun will be very impressed with your war wounds,” Collette told him.
OLeif had brought back a large bag of Riddles Skittles the previous night with the groceries. Puck thought they were called something else…
“Could I have two Snoodles, Mama?”
He went on to demonstrate a pristine sense of rhyme over tomato wedges during lunch…
“Be he dead, or be he alive, I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”
After consuming the rest of his lunch, he looked over at Collette under the brim of a pulled-low Cardinals hat…
“Mama?” he asked piously, “could you make me a sandwich?”
OLeif pulled up before four with a jar of sauerkraut from work, to renew the plates on the motorcycle. Collette and Puck read books together on the porch until he swooshed back up the drive with plate stickers updated.
Meanwhile, Puck was busy composing a grocery list for his grandma…
“A big box of beer? Does Grandma like beer? Oh!” he laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, no! Grandma doesn’t like beer! Hmmm…. What does she like? Hmmm… Oh! Lemonade! Of course! Pink lemonade!”
Puck had morphed into the kid that would put away his jams and clothes at the end of the day – albeit unfolded – without being asked. He jumped into bed, ready for a Happy Hollisters beach partying near Cape Kennedy reading from OLeif…
“Dad,” he cut in. “Could I have a garden party?”
“Well, I’m not sure that’s real, but maybe…”
“Mama? Is a garden party real?” Puck hollered.
“Yup.”
“Ok. Are garden blankets real?”
“Sure,” OLeif replied.
“Good. And we would have raking contests. I would be the coach.”
Once the reading had been completed, Puck settled in for the night. After a few minutes had passed…
“Mama!”
Collette walked back to his room. The little prince was on his back with a rice pouch placed directly over his eyes to block the light – just like OLeif.
“What is it, Puck?”
Puck sighed, as if inconvenienced…
“Could both of you whisper? I’m trying to go to sleep.”