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Conversations With A Three Year Old, Part 3

Who's this 'Brody' guy?!?!

Cast:

Me: 40. But I look 39. Or 41.

Violet: 3. Wearing Dora The Explorer pajama dress, eating microwave pancakes.

Scene:

Kitchen in the morning. We are seated at the red kitchen table. Tigger The Tiger is sitting on the table itself. Violet eats/I drink coffee.

(Camera rises out of week old Mother’s Day flowers to reveal bright room with man and daughter in mid-conversation.)

——————————

Me: Do you want something to drink maybe?

Violet (mouth full of pancake): mmmrrrColmik!

Me: Huh? I can’t understand a word you’re saying. That’s not even a language you’re talking, kid. It’s air being mooshed through a flapjack filter, do you know that?

Violet: Cold milk, Daddy!

Me: Oh, cold milk? Okay, great choice. I’ll get you some. (I rise up.)

Violet: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (She flings herself out of the chair and pushes me back to my seat and begins to move fast towards the fridge.)

Me: What are you doing?! Oh. I see. You wanna get the milk yourself? Okay.

(By the sink there is a row of brightly colored plastic cups. We convene there.)

Violet: I want big girl cup pweeze.

Me: Good deal; what color this morning, lady?

Violet: (reaching up to the end of her reach) Owange!

Me: Great. Orange it is.

(She gets the milk from the fridge, but it’s always too heavy and there is always a near-catastrophic spill, so I am there waiting to catch the heavy jug the same way I would be if she was pulling an anvil down off a shelf. We pour it into the big girl cup and go back to the table.)

Me: So how’s school? Do you have any friends there who you like, babe?

Violet: I have fwendz. He got an owie.

Me: Who got an owie? How?

Violet: Tommy. He got an owie. He fell down we racing. Owie.

Me: Hmph.

Violet: We race.

Me: And this Tommy guy fell, huh? Did he cry?

Violet: (pancake mouth) He qwuied.

Me: Who is this guy? Is he nice to you? You’re friends, right.

Violet: We’re friends, daddy.

(She’s never said this before. That she has a friend. I am torn between melt and jealousy and grand confusion.)

Me: Is Tommy your only friend at school? Who else do you play with?

Violet: Brody!

Me: Brody?! Who’s Brody? I never heard of any Brody before? Is he nice to you.

Violet: He’s nice, daddy.

Me: He is? Okay, good, good. So you guys race, huh? Is it fun?

Violet: He got owie.

Me: Who? Tommy? He’ll be okay. Did you help him up when he fell?

Violet: Mmmmmmm, syrup.

Me: Violet, what else do you know about Tommy? Is he a nice friend?

Violet: More colmilk?

Me: Okay okay, but tell me some more about these races with Tommy. And Brody. Do you guys laugh a lot?

Violet: (looking at me funny.) He got owie in race!

Me: (silence. I am being shut down. Stone-walled. Pushed away, mentally.)

Me: Cold milk?

Violet: Yes! I’ll get it, daddy!

Me: Okay, fine. ( We rise up together.) This conversation isn’t over though, you know that right?!

(But, it’s over. We go toward the big girl cups. New cup of milk= new colored cup.)

(Camera zips back away from dad and daughter at fridge and swirls around the room like a housefly all hopped up on steaming dog dirt and with a few spins around the ceiling/everything in a wild blur, it sucks itself back into the flowers on the red table. Fade to black.)

The End

 

You can also find Serge on his personal blog, Thunder Pie.

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More from Serge:

No Neckties, No Cologne: 20 Father’s Day Gifts I Really Want

25 Things About My Daughter, Violet

The Time Flies Baby And Everything Else Blues

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