I, Etcetera Page 12

One spanking was enough. We haven’t had that kind of trouble since.

  The maid.

  Yes, he used to bite his nails. But not any more.

  We’re thinking of moving to a better neighborhood. It’s probably more than we can afford. But the kids from Cudahy that Baby has been running around with are rough. And the other Sunday, when we were out driving in Topanga Canyon, we saw this split-level hacienda—it wouldn’t cost much, just the down payment with a twenty-year mortgage—that would be just right for us. It has a three-car garage that Baby could use part of for his chemistry lab and his ducks and six chickens.

  Two ducks.

  Laurie and Billy. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

  No, he hasn’t given names to the chickens.

  Straight A’s this semester. We promised him a bicycle if he made the honor roll.

  Oh, it’s a fine school. High standards. Old-fashioned discipline. And they take all the necessary precautions. Baby came down with the measles yesterday. And his homeroom teacher called the house this morning, around 10 a.m. That school is very careful, they have to be. Since they had a kidnapping two years ago.

  No, we don’t discuss what you say between us. You told us not to, didn’t you? Neither one of us is deaf, doctor.

  Already?

  Thursday

  We found a box of condoms in the drawer in Baby’s night table. Don’t you think he’s a little young for that, doctor?

  Baby’s teacher came to the house. She wanted to know what was wrong.

  Maybe Baby ought to see a doctor, too.

  Baby’s handwriting is very strange. Should we bring you a sample?

  Just say the word.

  Baby keeps a journal. Under lock and key, mind you.

  We wouldn’t dream of it. That would be one hell of a fast way to lose his confidence, wouldn’t it, doctor?

  We couldn’t agree more. Young people are so pretentious.

  It’s nice of you to say that.

  Arithmetic is his weakest subject. Penmanship, that’s not even worth mentioning. Atrocious.

  History. And chemistry.

  Not much. He has such a good memory, he doesn’t have to. But we’d like him to read more.

  Everything. He remembers last year’s supermarket prices, smog readings, the dialogue from a TV show, closing averages on the stock exchange. He knows all our friends’ telephone numbers. At the end of a day, he can reel off the license plates of every car we passed on the freeways. We tested him. He’s a regular garbage can of useless information.

  He’s waited hours outside The Greenhouse because Steve McQueen has lunch there sometimes.

  Basketball. He’s good at volleyball, too.

  Well, of course, he is tall for his age. It runs in our family.

  Regular measles, mumps, tonsillitis, the usual, when he was little. Braces for three years.

  He snores when he sleeps. He’s had his adenoids out twice.

  You know something odd about Baby? He laughs at four every morning. He must be dreaming. But if you try to wake him up, he doesn’t remember anything funny.

  No, you don’t understand. Always at four, exactly. Even when we went to Hawaii, where it’s a two-hour difference. Still 4 a.m., right on the dot. How would you explain that?

  Honestly! You can set your clock by it.

  He has a wonderful laugh. Wonderful. It makes us feel warm all over, in the next room, just to hear him.

  Actually, we did try once. We stood at the door to his room, waiting for 4 a.m. As soon as we heard the laugh, we rushed in and shook him awake and asked him what he was dreaming. He was so sleepy, poor kid. At first he didn’t say anything. And then, you know what he said?

  Guess.

  You’ll never guess.

  “Fish.” His eyes were closed, mind you. Then he laughed some more and repeated “Fish.” And then he went back to sleep, snoring.

  We asked him in the morning. But he didn’t remember a thing.

  One other time. But we didn’t actually wake him up. It was when we were camping out in Big Sur last spring, sharing the same tent. Sure enough, the laugh went off at 4 a.m. exactly. We checked our watches to make sure. And we just called out, very softly, “Baby?”

  And you know what he said? In his sleep, of course. He said: “Napoleon in a sealed train going to Elba.” And then laughed and laughed. Pretty smart, don’t you think? Even when that kid dreams, he dreams smart.

  Maybe it’s stupid to worry so much about a child. Is that what you mean, doctor?

  We’ve tried to give him every advantage, but—

  Yes. Sometimes. Not often.

  You think we were wrong?

  Good. That’s what we thought. Anyway, it was the maid who caught him.

  Oh. Juanita loves Baby. Everybody who meets Baby knows he’s special. Especially kids.

  We were wondering if you shouldn’t meet Baby yourself. Then you’d see what we mean.

  Friday

  Baby got a bloody nose in school yesterday.

  The pediatrician says he’s quite healthy except for his adenoids. Do you think he should have another check-up?

  We think protein is very important.

  But some things are physical. You do agree, doctor?

  Using Dr. Greenwich’s guidelines, we tried to cope ourselves. But it didn’t seem fair taking up too much time at group sessions for a personal problem.

  Perhaps you’ve never had a case exactly like ours.

  Of course, we’ve tried to get him to see a therapist. But he refuses. You can’t force someone to go, can you, doctor? People have to want to be helped.

  Exactly. That’s why we thought we could help Baby by talking to you.

  That wouldn’t help. We raised Baby’s allowance last week.

  With green stamps. But he’ll never make it.

  Baby says he wants to be a priest when he grows up. He sleeps with a Gideon Bible under his wooden pillow.

  From The Wigwam in Barlow. It’s a motel in the shape of a wigwam.

  Awfully hot. You know what Barlow’s like in the summer. We almost suffocated. But Baby doesn’t mind the heat.

  We were probably crazy to go there in June. But when we get to feeling cooped up, sometimes we just have to get into the car and drive someplace.

  You don’t mind if we turn up the air conditioning, do you? Aren’t you hot?

  That way, oh. Thanks.

  Baby is very mechanical, you know. He fixed the TV in the den the other night, when it jammed just as we were expecting eight for dinner.

  Sometimes we regret he leans so much toward science. It’s a bit like having Dr. Frankenstein Jr. around the house. And no matter what they say, you have to admit that science hardens the heart.

  For instance, when Mickey, his best friend, died of polio last summer. They’d been in surfing camp at Seal Beach the year before. We tried to keep the news from Baby, because we were afraid he’d be too upset. But when we told him, he didn’t seem sad at all.

  No, not you, doctor. We’re sure you’re a regular torrent of sympathy. But then, we wouldn’t call what you do exactly a science. Would you?

  Oh. Well, that isn’t what Dr. Greenwich says.

  You really want us to ask him? What if he doesn’t agree?

  Do you know, doctor, that’s the first time since we’ve been coming here that you’ve smiled. You ought to smile more often.

  It’s a deal. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?

  Saturday

  Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, and all that. You don’t mind our being a little corny, do you, doctor? It’s such a relief to talk about it.

  We wanted him to have piano lessons.

  No problem with hair.

  Well, that depends what you mean by drugs, doesn’t it?

  No.

  Only at school.

  A little, small doses, but he swears that he’s stopped.

  Never, thank God! That just ruins your mind for good, doesn’t it?

 
What makes things difficult is that Baby holds grudges.

  Wait a minute. Has Baby tried to see you, behind our backs?

  Why not? Listen, you don’t seem to understand how clever he is.

  Baby says he was born on Krypton and that we’re not his real parents.

  Well, what do you think of a kid only five years old who announces that he’s going to win the Nobel Prize? And that we would be proud then to have known him. He said it to the maid.

  In chemistry.

  The first time he ran away? Yes.

  With an air rifle.

  No, not very far.

  A tempura vendor in Ocean Park got Baby to show her his school-bus pass and telephoned us. She saw Baby going on the roller coaster for four hours straight.

  The police was only the third time. We hated calling the police, but there didn’t seem anything else to do.

  Everyone has an unhappy childhood, don’t they, doctor? At least, everyone seems to think so. You must have a lot of people trooping in here to tell you that. What did we do that was especially wrong? Of course, nobody has any respect for the family nowadays. We knew the ideas Baby would pick up at school. But in the home we tried to provide some balance, to teach him—

  No, he doesn’t like any of his cousins. Of course, they’re not as bright as he is. But even so …

  His cousin Bert was accepted at Cal Tech.

  He’s always liked to be treated as a grownup, rather than a child. He beams when you give him little responsibilities and tasks. You know, Baby’s more punctual than we are. That’s pretty unusual in someone his age.

  Whenever he feels we’re treating him like a child, he has a tantrum.

  The first time Baby had his adenoids out, we stayed by his bed in the hospital all night. But this time—don’t you think?—he’s old enough.

  Not strict, no. We haven’t the heart. But sometimes we have to be stern, for his own good.

  Well, you do have to give him credit for that. We know it’s necessary for him to rebel against us.

  That’s not the same.

  Do you have any children of your own, doctor?

  Anyway, a precocious child is different. You’re not going to tell us that an eight-year-old who’s reading Schopenhauer could possibly be easy to handle.

  Maybe.

  All right. We’ll try to find out for tomorrow.

  That’s right! Hey, how are we going to manage for a whole day without you?

  Of course, we’ll do it without asking him directly. You really take us for idiots, don’t you? Just like Baby.

  Monday

  We had a fight last night, after the group meeting. And bang in the middle, we caught Baby listening at the door in his sleep suit.

  We couldn’t.

  In the morning, we found he’d wet his bed again.

  Oh, we did. And we tried sleeping in twin beds. Baby has a habit of crawling into bed with us on Saturday and Sunday mornings.

  Sometimes we have affairs. We don’t feel we ought to take each other for granted. But we tell each other everything.

  Listen, everybody’s got to live their own lives.

  Sure we’ve thought of having other children. But it never seemed to be the right moment. You have to plan these things.

  Maybe it’s too late now. And we haven’t done so well with the one we’ve got, let’s face it.

  He never says. He prefers older children. His best friend is eight. Her name is Thelma DeLara, but he calls her Bloomers. She calls him Vanilla. They’re so adorable together. He told us he’s going to marry her. Those two can sit in the front-hall closet together giggling for hours.

  Thelma baby-sits for us when we go down the street to the Turnells’ to play bridge. Generally on Thursday nights. They have a boat just like ours.

  The Turnells. They’re friends, doctor.

  No, they don’t belong to the group. They’re not the type.

  What do you mean? Who the hell told you that?

  Oh. Well, it’s not true. We’re not interested in that kind of thing. We don’t object to it, of course. Other people can do what they want.

  Why are you asking so many questions about us, doctor? Nothing in our friendship with the Turnells will help you understand better the problem with Baby.

  Baby doesn’t even know the Turnells. They don’t have children his age.

  Sure it makes a difference. Raising children is an art, you know. We see so many parents around us who don’t take it seriously. Even you’d be shocked, doctor. You don’t know the half of what goes on!

  Tuesday

  Are most of your patients members of some group, doctor?

  Just curious.

  We did once. We decided to get a divorce, but we couldn’t go through with it. Baby would have been so unhappy. He’s too small to understand.

  First, to teach him how to take care of himself. Baby is so trusting. He’s ready to go off with any smiling stranger who promises to drive him to Disneyland.

  We take turns walking him to school. It’s only six blocks away, but with the neighborhood what it is now, you can’t be too careful.

  What part of town do you live in, doctor? This isn’t your apartment as well, is it?

  Oh, you’re lucky. It’s so hard these days to find a good house.

  Baby got mugged in Griffith Park, where he went to fly his kite. Three Mexican boys.

  He was carrying seven dollars.

  Just a knife.

  No, he wasn’t hurt.

  When he first got the chemistry set, it was really adorable. He said he was going to find a magic formula so that we could live forever.

  No, that was the odd part. Just the two of us.

  We worry occasionally that we can’t be as close to him as other parents because we weren’t all that young when he was born. Not that the generation gap is all it used to be. But still …

  Of course, youth is a state of mind. Don’t you think, doctor? And we do keep fit. We jog. And we don’t smoke.

  Us walk around naked in front of Baby? Certainly not! Not that we have anything against it. But Baby is so beautiful.

  We’re saving Baby’s first lock of hair. Yesterday we took him to an Italian barber in Westwood. Baby hardly cried at all.

  Sometimes we have a sinking feeling of time passing by so quickly. He’s changed so much already.

  You can see it in the snapshots we take each month to record his growth. That album is probably worth more than all the words we’re spilling out here put together.

  That’s a strange thing to say, doctor. You know perfectly well what we want.

  Wednesday

  Reason with him? That’s all we do. But he’s so withdrawn.

  Last year he refused to eat breakfast any more. And now he’s stopped drinking milk. We’ve warned him it’s bound to stunt his growth. Actually, it hasn’t. But it still doesn’t seem healthy.

  Cheez Doodles, Banana Chips, Squirt, Fritos, pizzas, tacos, you know the kind of junk kids stuff themselves with.

  Mostly he stays in his room. We have to ask him ten times before he’ll help with the dishes.

  Baby says he disapproves of hobbies. Imagine! But, of course, he has them. Just like every youngster.

  Model airplanes. But Baby refuses to buy the plastic ones you get now. He made his own parts out of balsa wood and worked out an ingenious propeller and tail strut with Popsicle sticks and rubber bands. The damn thing looks as if it could really fly.

  Of course, we know about glue sniffing. Doctor, please! We weren’t born yesterday.

  Listen, Baby cares too much about his child-prodigy brain ever to get involved with drugs. Also, he’s too unsociable. We wonder if he ever even talks to the other kids at school.

  Perhaps it’s just as well. You should see that school. It’s a mess.

  No supervision. The kids can do anything they want. The teachers are simply afraid of them.

  Maybe the Chinese have the right idea. Not that we’d want to live over there. But a
t least people are honest, they have a real sense of community, there are neighbors, marriages stay together, children respect their parents. Of course, people don’t have any material comforts and they aren’t allowed to think. But we could do without the three cars and the pool and all that. A lot of good it’s done us, when you come to think of it. And as for heavy thinking, look where that’s gotten Baby.

  You don’t believe that, do you, doctor? That’s a smug look you’ve got on your face. You think you’ve got us pegged, don’t you? Maybe you’ll realize now we’re not as typical as you think. We’re really radicals, though we don’t show it.

  Baby thinks we’re radicals.

  He’s going through a conservative period, like a lot of kids nowadays. We don’t criticize him. We just hope he’ll outgrow it.

  Baby has a Confederate flag over his bed.

  Last Christmas, we gave him a record of Pete Seeger singing anti-war songs. His first phonograph, you know, very sturdy. He couldn’t break it. He could just manage to hook the record on the spindle with his pudgy fingers.

  He used to play those songs for hours. And sing them in the bathroom, while he played with his rubber ducks.

  Now he just wants cash for Christmas and his birthday. We don’t know what he spends it on.

  Oh, we don’t stint. Listen, the kid has to have a normal life. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t feel excluded. And sometimes, when we see him doing something stupid, we really have to bite our tongues.

  But he doesn’t seem to like fun, like other kids. Always studying. Worrying. He’s so stern.

  Baby got a crew cut, doctor. And what’s even worse, you know what he says?

  He says he knows it’s the least flattering hair style in history. And that’s why he likes it. He says it’s meant to deflect attention from the surface to the inner man.

  Strange to think of Baby being such a puritan.

  We begged him to grow his hair long, like the other kids.

  Your hair is sort of short, isn’t it, doctor?

  Thursday

  He did it again! Played hooky yesterday. You see what we’re up against. Probably went to the movies. At least, we hope so.

  Baby has seen The Great Escape with Steve McQueen thirteen times. Would you say that the film represents—

  Oh, you haven’t seen it.

  Do you go much to the movies, doctor?

  Never. Even when he brought girls to his room, we closed our eyes to it. After all, we hardly have the money to set him up in an apartment of his own. Not at this stage of the game. But we thought he shouldn’t be penalized for that. Our problem.