When not to Laugh - The Dangerous Silence
It's quiet, too quiet, I think to myself. My heart sinks to the bottom of my belly. A disaster is occurring in the room at the end of the hall. I don't know how I know it, I just do. I bound from the table and race to my bedroom. Swinging the door open, I see…. nothing. No mess, no broken jewelry, no stacked chairs and, no children. Oh, whew! Wait! WHERE ARE THE BOYS?!!! I panic. My son and his cousin were playing here two minutes ago. They could not have gotten far. I race through the house. I check harmful places first. Front yard? Nope, road? Thank goodness, no. I check the oven, the dryer, the balcony; no, no, and no. I pause to clear my worried mind. There is one place I hardly dare to picture them infiltrating. Perhaps, it is the most dangerous place in the whole house. My parent's room.
Even when I was a child, I knew the wrath of my parents would be upon anyone who dared to enter their territory. I crack their door open one centimeter at a time, hardly breathing. Through the crack, I spy two boys blanketed in frocks of over-sized clothes. The younger of the boys is stuck in one leg of Grandpa's pants. My son stands beside him in a gown-sized shirt. A laugh bursts through my serious expression as I notice my mom's bra acting as a fashionable hat atop my son's head. Both of the outfits are completed with high heeled shoes on their tiny feet. “What do you think you are doing?” I muster as my face contorts from the effort of keeping a straight face. My sweet little boy shows his gigantic grin and explains, “We are playing grown-up's.” I give up the battle of fighting my smile back. I shake my head, laughing as I tell them to wait there while I get the camera.
I run out for a second to grab my phone. When I get back, the cuteness is already over. They are back to their own clothes and they are attempting to hide evidence that they were in a forbidden area. I take them back to their play room and show them the box of costumes that they can use to continue their imaginative game of grown-ups. Faced with items that they are permitted to play with, their interest diminishes. The mind of the child is unique and strange. Just got to love them, weirdness and all.
Even when I was a child, I knew the wrath of my parents would be upon anyone who dared to enter their territory. I crack their door open one centimeter at a time, hardly breathing. Through the crack, I spy two boys blanketed in frocks of over-sized clothes. The younger of the boys is stuck in one leg of Grandpa's pants. My son stands beside him in a gown-sized shirt. A laugh bursts through my serious expression as I notice my mom's bra acting as a fashionable hat atop my son's head. Both of the outfits are completed with high heeled shoes on their tiny feet. “What do you think you are doing?” I muster as my face contorts from the effort of keeping a straight face. My sweet little boy shows his gigantic grin and explains, “We are playing grown-up's.” I give up the battle of fighting my smile back. I shake my head, laughing as I tell them to wait there while I get the camera.
I run out for a second to grab my phone. When I get back, the cuteness is already over. They are back to their own clothes and they are attempting to hide evidence that they were in a forbidden area. I take them back to their play room and show them the box of costumes that they can use to continue their imaginative game of grown-ups. Faced with items that they are permitted to play with, their interest diminishes. The mind of the child is unique and strange. Just got to love them, weirdness and all.
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