Andrew and I spent last weekend together without his mom, who was off to a high school reunion in Wisconsin.
It turned out to be a somewhat traumatic and intellectually challenging experience for both of us.
He’s three, and pretty smart for his age. He knows and understands words. He has good instincts. He seems to sense what is happening around him. He knows when it’s time to go to the bathroom, and almost always knows how to tell me. He announces in his own way when he is hungry or thirsty. And when I put his food in front of him he won’t touch it until I put grated cheese on top.
I sense that he really likes me. He follows me wherever I go, even into the privacy of my bathroom. He sits under my chair when I eat. He even comes with me to den to watch the Indians game…and unlike me he seems rather relaxed about it.
Is he suffering like I’m suffering? I asked myself, after my once beloved team began to fall apart. My jaws were tight, my mouth dry I was sweating, wondering what this embarrassing performance means to the reputation of my beleaguered town…I’m beginning to hate the coach, the owner and everything about the team. I even hate the announcers.
