I am not Gabriel
"I am not Gabriel," announces Gabriel, age two-and-a-half.
I am driving.
"Who are you?" I say to my son, as I steer the car through Berkeley traffic, narrowly missing a truck as I crane my neck toward the back seat.
Pause. Face scrunches up in concentration. Face suddenly brightens.
"I am the Mommy and you are the Gabriel."
We play that for awhile, and so he is driving the car and I am sitting in his carseat, and then I am Greta the dachshund and he is Pretzel the long dog, and he rescues me from a hole, and then he is Katy the kangaroo and I am Freddy the joey, and then we are stegasauruses and crocodiles and giraffes riding a pterodactyl to the moon.
Or going to the petting farm in Tilden Park. Or eating grass-fed beef tacos at Tacubaya. Or playing Thomas trains in the El Cerrito Barnes & Noble at 10 PM.
Bedtime? What bedtime?
I am driving.
"Who are you?" I say to my son, as I steer the car through Berkeley traffic, narrowly missing a truck as I crane my neck toward the back seat.
Pause. Face scrunches up in concentration. Face suddenly brightens.
"I am the Mommy and you are the Gabriel."
We play that for awhile, and so he is driving the car and I am sitting in his carseat, and then I am Greta the dachshund and he is Pretzel the long dog, and he rescues me from a hole, and then he is Katy the kangaroo and I am Freddy the joey, and then we are stegasauruses and crocodiles and giraffes riding a pterodactyl to the moon.
Or going to the petting farm in Tilden Park. Or eating grass-fed beef tacos at Tacubaya. Or playing Thomas trains in the El Cerrito Barnes & Noble at 10 PM.
Bedtime? What bedtime?
posted by joyfish at 7:21 PM
1 Comments:
It is a joy to see Garbriel growing up to be so imaginative and bright with your guidance. The love between you is a force.
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