Bouncing Off Walls

The other day, Daigoro was running about in his grandparents' TV room.

This isn't unusual behaviour for him - he likes to be active. What was unusual for him is that he was literally bouncing off walls.

"Literally" is a sadly misused word these days. I often wince when news reporters say something like "they literally tore into the other team," or "it literally blew their minds," when, of course (unless they were actually talking about wolf pack attacks on sports players, or very carefully timed and placed explosives) they are figuratively doing something. Many people seem to just use it as a magnifying word. Somewhere in the ironic punishments division of Hell, I imagine these word-sinners suffering literally the exact things they should have described in a figurative sense - "hey, news anchorperson, how do you like literally being knocked off your feet? Hmmm? Or literally being cut to pieces? Hmmm? Sorta different than being figuratively cut to pieces, eh?"

No... in this case, Daigoro was literally (really literally, not figuratively) bouncing off walls. He'd run across the room, use his hands to slow his impact somewhat, then go bouncing off in another direction. He'd hit another wall, then go bouncing off in another run, careening about like a toddler-sized pinball in a 5m x 3m enclosure.

The near-boundless energy of toddlers. Inspirational at times - downright exhausting at others.

In happier news, Daigoro has gotten over his clenching-his-legs-together phase of diaper resistance, at least for the moment.

Cycles and Phases

Daigoro goes through cycles, much like other children. His cycles can be somewhat strange, however. For example, when he was very young (0-6 months or so), he enjoyed getting his diaper changed so much that we actually changed him to calm him down even if he didn't need changing (on occasion, when we had reached a mental breaking point). Later, he began to dislike getting changed (6-18 months), mostly on account of wanting to be able to squirm about. Then, for a brief period, he seemed to be fairly lukewarm to the idea (18-22 months). For the last two months or so, however, he's become resistant again, to the point of clamping shut his legs every other day or so and protesting "no, no, stop!". For any other parents who may have not had this experience, it's surprisingly difficult to change a baby who is actively resisting you by tucking his knees and legs together and drawing them in against his body. Then when you go to wipe his bottom, he puts down his legs, then you go to wipe his groin and he tucks them up again. Smart cookie, Daigoro. Sometimes it's related to diaper rash (which, thankfully, he doesn't get very often at all), but sometimes it just seems to be his mood to put up resistance.

For a while there, he seemed to want nothing but YouTube clips of trucks. Now he wants "games" - computer games like Dora the Explorer, Diego and other delightful diversions at www.nickjr.com. We're limiting his play time, of course, but it's interesting (and somewhat disturbing) to hear a child want something (aside from a cookie) as the very first thing when he wakes up in the morning, and that something to be a computer game. (Well, to be honest, the very first thing he asks for is "Mom" or "Dad", so we've got that portion of his affections locked down).

We've recently begun reading him bedtime stories more often. When he was younger, he seemed somewhat uninterested - usually losing attention about three pages in, but now he's pretty keen. Last night, for the first time, he wanted to take his book to bed with him and read it (well, flip through the pages and stare at the pictures). He's taken the book to bed with him before, as a sort of security blanket; he's also taken dolls, trucks and various other toys with him to clutch while falling asleep. Last night, though, he sat in bed reading after we put him down. Marli commented, "We may as well have been robots, for all he needed us to be there." It was kind of cute to look at him, lying on his back reading, completely oblivious to his adoring parents.

Cycles and phases. Some things he returns to; some he never will.

The Origins of Humour

Honest, unforced laughter from a child is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to my ears.

Daigoro likes to laugh. As mentioned frequently before, he's generally a happy kid. He'll laugh if we mug funny faces for him, if we blow raspberries ("zerberts") on his belly, if we do funny dances or somersaults for him. The thing that sets him off, though - the type of humour that sends him into gales of laughter - is pratfalls. He loves it when things fall down, slip or run headlong into other things. If you show him one of those dumb "Funniest Home Video" clips of cats and dogs having various "incidents", he'll giggle and laugh until his eyes tear up and he struggles to catch his breath.

He wandered into the computer room while I was watching Robot Chicken, a great little 10 minute filler show from [adult swim]. One episode has a segment with nothing but toy Cylon Centurions (from the old Battlestar Galactica sci-fi series) slipping, falling, crashing into each other (or unlucky Daggetts) and otherwise doing one long pratfall sequence. Daigoro thought it was hilarious and sat there laughing his head off. I just had to play it for him again. (If you're familiar with Robot Chicken: no, I didn't let him watch much more than that sequence. It does get pretty graphic at times)

I've read that the human grin (and laughter) is an outgrowth of the primate grimace; a facial expression primarily intended to communicate fear and discomfort. Showing teeth in most other mammals is a threat, which has probably been the downfall of many an unwary human who smiled broadly at a angry dog. I guess the difference with primates is that, living in troops and small bands, "smiling" communicates this fear and allows the rest of the band to understand what you're going through. I'm not too up on anthropology, but I have to assume that over time, this shared experience of fear turned into a communal release valve - a way of saying "I'm frightened of this (or this potentially happening to me) but we're still alive and laughing about it."

I don't know the exact quote - "all humour grows out of pain" or something to that effect. A corollary seems to be "comedy equals tragedy plus time".

Where does Daigoro learn to laugh at things? Marli and I don't typically watch pratfall based humour shows (funny though it can be) and we certainly don't laugh at Daigoro when he falls down. Yet he finds people (or animals) falling or tripping or getting bonked on the head the very pinnacle of humour at the moment. Is it because toddlers can relate to falling down or getting hurt - that the subconscious fear of falling and the relief of seeing it happen to someone else somehow translates into comedic gold?

Physical comedy is looking at the physical pain that one could be experiencing and someone internalizing it - turning it into something to be mocked, not feared. All our more elabourate comedy forms (satire, farce, parody) seems to stem from understanding the underlying pain or ridiculousness of a situation and simply laughing at it. Social pain - embarassment, awkwardness, humiliation - is still pain, especially to social animals like humans.

Not that Daigoro thinks about this sort of thing. He just laughs and laughs and laughs… because it's funny. That's all that's important, really.

Circle Game

I've recently invested some time in transferring parts of my moderate-sized CD collection into MP3 format for use on my iPod 30GB. Yes, I'm officially about five or six years behind the curve in terms of this technology, but I've never been a big "music guy". I enjoy music, but it doesn't seem to define my life in the same sense that it does for many people.

In any case, I was bopping along on shuffle mode when Joni Mitchell's song "Circle Game" came up. My pace slowed a bit as I paused to listen to the lyrics. Here they are reproduced in part:

Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, when youre older, must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

I almost stopped in my tracks. I was really getting choked up listening to the lyrics. I don't know if most parents do - I suspect so. Same thing probably happens to men who listen to "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin. It's horrendously cliché, I know, but it's hard not to be affected by the enormity of the passage of time and the cyclical nature of parenthood/fatherhood.

So I'm trudging along thinking about how I could possibly be getting more out of the experience of fatherhood, "savouring" more, as it were, as well as putting more into it for Daigoro's sake. As it goes, I think I'm doing pretty well - but we'll see.

Not really anything to do with Daigoro, to be honest, but certainly made me take a moment mentally and think about exactly what this whole business of being a father means. It reminds me of what I debt I owe to both my parents for giving me a loving and nurturing childhood. Not entirely without strife or darkness, of course (that would be pretty damaging in itself) but by and large, a excellent foundation for my own turn as a parent. When Daigoro smiles and hugs us, it feels like warm sunshine embodied in a little squirmy package. There are definitely perks to being a father.

I'm nostalgic by nature - I tend to really become attached to places and memories, probably more so than is good for me. The song makes me think ahead to moments when Daigoro won't look at me with the same shining love in his eyes, to times where he'll hate me or fear me in turn. The passage of time for a parent is both stunningly quick (when considering it in retrospect) and occasionally agonizingly slow (when trying to endure another fifteen minutes of a cranky toddler).

Daigoro is starting to use more words to express more of his opinion.

"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!!!" (general emphatic disagreement with what we're asking him to do)

"No, thank you." (in response to bathtime or the need to get ready for church)

I'm starting to ramble a little now... perhaps I'll edit this entry later. I just wanted to capture my feeling on hearing this song and thinking about Daigoro and the upcoming addition to our family.