Little Boy was just tucking into part 2 of 3 of his evening meal (a slice of wheat bread with peanut butter and a touch of nutella) when the doorbell rang. “You stay here,” I told him while using the personal sign language that I developed to reinforce this notion way back on our first full day together in Addis Ababa — pointing at him, then pointing at the ground — though by now he can understand me without the gestures. I walked downstairs and opened the door to the small blond woman that I immediately recognized as a neighbor who lives in the property that adjoins ours from the back. I’ve seen her, coming and going with her two young super-blond child and her smiley, chipper blond husband.
“Hi there,” she said warmly, and formally introduced herself before asking urgently, “Do you have a ladder? A big ladder?” She explained that she had locked her and her kids outside of their second-floor condo, and her husband was on a business trip, and her downstairs neighbor was helping her but they needed a ladder. A big ladder. Which we happened to have in our garage, thanks to the owner of our downstairs condo who was also the former owner of our condo.
The blond woman and I went into the garage and began moving rakes, shovels, and bags of soil out of the way of the ladder. She revealed that her family moved to the Boston area from Utah, which given her wholesome blondness really didn’t surprise me. We walked the ladder over to her property. Her 2-year old son was toddling around the lawn, the 7-month old baby was crying loudly in his carrier, and the 50ish downstairs neighbor rejoiced at seeing the ladder and began plotting her heroic entry into the house.
I explained that I had to go back to my condo to see about the kid, but when I was upstairs, I looked out the window and watched them trying to position the ladder onto the house while looking after the frenetic toddler and soothing the manic baby. So I told Little Boy we were going outside and we walked over to her yard.
Little Boy looked at the 2 year old warily. They were about the same size, but the 2-year old moved with developmentally-typical jerky motions and stilted steps. The two boys peered at each other curiously until the 2-year quickly sat on his little riding car, as if to claim it. Little Boy gave a bored look and told him, “It’s a baby toy. You baby.”
Ha ha ha. As abhorred as I should have been by his impoliteness (though I know its very typical “kid”), I couldn’t help but to be a wee bit proud at how far he’s come. Five months ago, upon seeing the little blond boy, he would have tried to flee; failing that, beg to be carried; failing that, he would have gotten as far away as possible and avoided any possible contact. The idea that Little Boy would speak understandable English to another kid, that he would assert his prerogative and his seniority, would have been unthinkable. It’s moments like these when I realize that, someday, Little Boy will be fully assimilated with no linguistic, social, or developmental barriers.
Long story short, the blond woman climbed the ladder into her house, the little blond boy and Little Boy are mortal enemies, I made friends with two neighbors and got the ladder back.
Later, Little Boy and I went to the playground, where more than a few dropped leaves littered the basketball court. A new phenomenon for Little Boy: Autumn! Earlier this week, he was asking to go to the ocean and I had to explain that the water was too cold. “Cold?” Little Boy asked, disbelieving since it was 80 degrees and humid outside. Ah, but just wait. You’ll soon have a full understanding of the word.
