Kids Say the Darnedest Things

I was catching up on Kaz’s i hate snaps today. In the post titled ”What Are They Feeding Her at Daycare!?” he tells a funny story about something his daughter said at the kitchen table.

In turn, that post reminded me of a story from my childhood that my mother loves to tell.

When I was 4 or 5, just before my sister was born, we lived in an apartment complex in San Antonio, Tx.

In the center of this multi-building complex was a playground – jungle gym, swing set, slide, and a merry-go-round; the usual accoutrement of play yards.

As you might imagine, this was hot spot for the kids in the complex.

Mom would take me down there to expend some of the endless energy that flows from the fountain of youth.

In fact, many mom/kid combos played there.

The mothers would sit on the benches, making small talk and watching their little ones.

On this particular day there was a new combo on the playground; a mother and son.

I was a very gregarious youth; a new child on the playground was only a friend I hadn’t met yet. [ed. note: my curmudgeon training, which began in my late teens, has since shown me the error of those ways]

Anyhoo, we played for a while and he asked me my name.

A normal child would say, “Rob,” or “Robert” as I went by until I was a teenager, and leave it at that.

God forbid I be normal.

Instead, according to my mother, I looked him straight in the eye and said, “My name is Robert, but my friends call me Doo-Doo.”

My mother loves to regale people with this story. Especially when I would bring a girl home for the first time. And yes, it would bother me.

It bothered me because I didn’t know why I said it.

Years later, it dawned on me; I said it because it was funny. Warped and demented, but funny.

So I’m not just funny looking.

Just as I laughed at Kaz's story (and my own, for the umpteenth time), I look forward to the twins' humor.