Heart Tickler
By Jean Southworth
February 2001
The best questions come at night. On the rare evening when Daddy isn’t around for his master-storytelling to Taylor, I substitute with a bedtime cuddle. It’s pitch black. You never know what’s coming."So, how old are you, Mom?"
"Thirty-nine. But I’m gonna be forty this June. Pretty old, huh?" Pause.
"No, I think it’s an HONOR!"
Oh, how this kid touches my heart. I no longer fear June, ‘cause you know, it’s an honor. That’s my motto. Don’t dare question it, either.
They’re learning about hearts in Ms. Quast’s fourth grade class this week. Without using any charts or diagrams, Ms. Quast carefully describes the various blood vessels which supply this crucial organ. Better yet, she tells of her own personal experiences as a potential heart patient. "I started feeling kinda funny," Taylor told me later. "All those blood veins and stuff- I felt a little sick." "I guess you’re not going to be a heart surgeon, huh, Taylor?" I asked.
"That’s just what Ms. Quast said!" Taylor answered.
Ms. Quast must have noticed the curious shade of green on his face.
Taylor made a big heart card for me at church for Valentine’s Day. OK, it was upside down, but to me, it was perfect. Less preparation went into his Valentine’s Day box for school. I thought nothing of it when Taylor asked for a large bag to haul his Valentine's loot. I just pointed where to look. Taylor pulled a huge Meier and Frank department store bag from the overstuffed drawer.
In his defense, Taylor hasn’t had a lot of time to think about things like Valentine’s boxes. Being cast in South Salem High’s play, "The Music Man," takes up a lot of his energies. Mine, too. For security reasons, I hang out at the practices with the young director, 60 teenagers and 10 grade schoolers. (Yesterday I smelled something burning. Turns out everyone else did, too. No one cared.)
Anyway, Taylor’s play practice meant he missed the Valentine’s party, which was OK. Before he left, he got to see all the kids describe their special Valentine’s Day boxes. He admired Michelle’s castle, whose lid popped off when two cords were pulled. He appreciated Drew’s grand piano-shaped box. Taylor got up and gave a monologue about how tough it was to yank that bag out of the kitchen drawer, how he’d somehow torn it up good on the way to school, and how he’d attempted a Scotch tape repair later in the day.
Taylor missed the class voting for best Valentine’s Day box because of play practice, but we heard the results. Michelle got first; Drew got second. Taylor was in the running for third place. Apparently, they liked his story, if not his bag. Taylor must have been thinking of all this last night when he said, "You know, Mom, sometimes you can take sorta bad stuff and make it funny and OK."
"Yes," I said, thinking not of Valentine’s Day bags, but of flying Dairy trucks.
Then he said, out of the blue, "Thanks, Mom, for coming to all my play practices. I know that can’t be easy for you." I felt a warm tingle inside; this is the good stuff of parenting.
After Taylor rides a roller coaster, he always says, "It makes my heart tickle." Taylor may never be a cardiac surgeon, but I don’t know of anyone who can tickle other people’s hearts with such sweet and tender skill.