Random Writings on Nephews
I don't get to see my nephews much anymore every
since I moved from Atlanta to Lake City. I get
to see them maybe twice a year and even then
my younger nephew Nick is usually sleep so it
doesn't really count. Seeing a family member
sleep is like looking at a picture of them.
A snoring, drooling, incoherently mumbling picture.
I have two nephews and I love them to death.
They are the only people in my family that are
younger than me. All my other family members
were already alive when I was born. I has
been a thrilling experience to watch my nephews
grow through the different stages of life.
Of course, some stages are more thrilling than
others.
The early baby stages were not very thrilling.
All my nephews did as babies was sleep and cry.
At least thats the way it seemed to me. I'm
sure they also ate and pooped, but whenever
possible I was far away during these periods.
I learned very quickly that when it comes
to sheer grossness (if that's a real word)
watching a 1-year old eat is rivaled only
mammal childbirth and maybe that episode
of Fear Factor where they ate blended sewer
rat. I've seen pictures on Rotten.com that
turned my stomach less. And we won't even
start on the pooping.
Once my nephews started talking I was able
to get along with them better. My younger
nephew, Nick, who is three, can now speak
fairly well. Last time I saw him he could
say a few words. Now he has a whole vocabulary.
It's quite astoinishing to hear him say
something like "Uncle Tim I want to play the
train game" in perfect english. Last year
he would have just grunted and pointed
somewhere in the general direction of the
computer. He also sings. My Dad tried
to get him to sing 'I've been working on
the Railroad'. He preferred Fat Joe's'Lean
Is White, Working Class America 'Coming Apart'?
In his new book, Charles Murray, co-author of the controversial <em>The Bell Curve,</em> argues that in an increasingly economically stratified America, the white working class is slipping behind.
Sandwich Monday: The Pie McFlurry
For this week's Sandwich Monday, we go once more into the breach that is the McDonald's Secret Menu: blending a Hot Apple Pie into a McFlurry. Spoiler alert: it was amazing.
Back'.
My oldest nephew, Frankie, is now 8. I
had to ask him how old he was when I started
writing this article, because I always forget.
"Frankie, how old are you now"? I asked. "Seven
or eight"?
"Eight." he replied, with an expression of total
disgust on his face. "I can't believe you thought
I was seven"
I apologized for making such a mistake. I know
that confusing an 8-year old with a 7-year
old is an offense paramount to confusing
Spiderman with Batman, or SpongeBob with
Shrek. I've learned over the past eight
years that age is a very sensitive subject
for children. They say to never ask a woman
her age, I say to never ask an adolescent either.
The older my nephews get the harder they are
to wrestle with as well. When they were
small I had to worry about hurting them. Now,
I have to worry about them hurting me, or
worse, me hurting me as I flee from them down
the hallway in a desperate attempt to get to the
bathroom and lock myself in.I've found that I have
to prepare for they're visits much like an athlete
prepares for the Olympic. I have to get my body and
mind in shape. I run. I lift weights. I practice my
Thunder Power Slams, Killer Elbow combos and tapping
out. And I spend a lot of time on my sprints.
I have a lot more to learn and look forward
to as my nephews get even older. Soon they will be
pre-teens and then teenagers. They will even
reach adulthood one day I suppose. One thing I
do know is that no matter what age they are and
no matter what phases in life they are going through
I will always love them. They are My nephews,
My family. And the best tag-team wrestlers I know...
About the Author
Timothy Ward invites you to visit:
http://www.wardwidewebzine.goduck.net
to learn more about his new ezine: the Ward Wide Webzine.
|