The Walking Fred


The Walking FredWe are having a family party and that means I am in a house surrounded by my two arch enemies: complex carbohydrates and children. I find myself trapped at a kiddy table with a bottle of Mexican beer, fruit salad, my sister and her kids: my niece Quinn (4), and my nephew Fred (2).

I decide to make the best of it – and besides, I love the little rugrats – so I settle in, wash down some cantaloupe with limed beer, and jot down some observations.

My first observation is that toddlers are like a mixture of aggressive wasps and the drunkest person at a wedding. They buzz a table as though it was a rival hive. Then, after recon, they come back and destroy something, throw another thing on the ground, smash that thing, pee themselves, and then stab themselves with a utensil. After the shrieking and hysterical wailing, they cram a waffle in their throat and pass out.

The remainder of my observations center around my sister’s kids, especially my nephew Fred. Full name: Frederick Jennings Dickinson, thus guaranteeing an occupation as either a war correspondent (“Live from Baghdad, this is Frederick Jennings Dickinson signing off.”) or a middle linebacker (“Can you believe the hit that Fred Dickinson just laid on that poor receiver?”)

Right?

But now, before one of those burgeoning careers, he is a toddler. And this means that he walks around like a drunken zombie. He lurches into walls, tables, people, and stairwells.  He does this while groaning, growling and emitting some wild gibberish around whatever object he has stuck into his mouth. In a room of 11,000 pillows and safe toys for children, Fred Dickinson will find a hidden fireplace poker and smack it into a wall right before he smacks the wall into his nose and crashes in an overall clad heap on top of the poker.

My sister is like a perpetual motion machine. Grabbing this kid, pulling a dead mouse out of that kid’s mouth, bringing Fred (who has found the stairs: the one place in the house he isn’t allowed to go) down the steps upside down, and asking them questions like: “Remember that deal we made, Quinn? No stabbing Freddy and I’ll give you a cupcake,” and “Freddy, do you really think you should be playing with a huge golden telescope?” and then she’s holding a horizontal kid whose kicking and screaming, and I mean, SCREAMING, and she’s pulling a butcher knife out of the other kid’s hand – oh, and where the fuck did that come from!? – and as all of this happens, she looks at me and mentions with a casual air, like a sideline reporter commenting on a game in which Fred Dickinson has just annihilated a tight end in the end zone, “Man, if I didn’t have kids, I’d be much fatter.”

Despite the fact that I often comment that children are tiny evil human manifestations of mouth herpes, I do not want them to get hurt. If I had kids I would spend my life in constant terror, right up until the moment I checked myself into an insane asylum picking my nose and wearing a Harry Potter robe. This is especially true since toddlers seem to have an ability to find ‘fourth level of Zelda’ hidden shit that can hurt them. So I cannot understand how my sister hasn’t wrapped her kids in two hundred pounds of bubble wrap as she downs a half bottle of Xanax.

I give her, and all of you parents, immense credit.

But when you feel the freak out approach, just leave the kids with your spouse and remember that I have an extra room in my Prague flat. I will supply the Harry Potter robes, and bubble wrap (no kids, but who doesn’t love bubble wrap?), and you bring the Xanax and the complex carbohydrates.

The beer will be Czech.

  1. #1 by Amanda on August 8, 2013 - 2:20 am

    Finally, someone gets it.

  2. #3 by Kim on August 8, 2013 - 2:52 am

    Dying laughing! This is my life!

    • #4 by Damien Galeone on August 9, 2013 - 2:59 am

      Yep – I knew it, Kimmie! Glad you enjoyed. How old is the boy now?

  3. #5 by Tiffany N. York on August 8, 2013 - 7:40 am

    Oh, yeah. I remember walking around in a hyper-vigilant state AT ALL TIMES during the toddler years. But no one can exist like that for long without their head exploding, so now that my son is 11, I’m the complete opposite. “Why do you have that knife? Oh, never mind, just be careful.”

    Enjoy the little ankle biters.

  4. #6 by Meghan on August 8, 2013 - 3:16 pm

    My sister always says living with a toddler is like living with a drunk. One minute she’s happy, laughing, enjoying life and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably and blaming you for whatever it is. Well captured, Damien.

  5. #8 by Tammy Murphy on August 8, 2013 - 5:07 pm

    Ha ha ha! This is hilarious! It is extra funny that it really makes me want to bring my Seamus to visit Amanda and family!! Enjoy Prague!

    • #9 by Damien Galeone on August 9, 2013 - 3:03 am

      For a second there Tammy, I thought you were saying that you were coming to Prague with your son and I almost had a heart attack. haha.

  6. #10 by Andy on August 8, 2013 - 6:21 pm

    “And this means that he walks around like a drunken zombie. He lurches into walls, tables, people, and stairwells. He does this while groaning, growling and emitting some wild gibberish around whatever object he has stuck into his mouth. In a room of 11,000 pillows and safe toys for children, Fred Dickinson will find a hidden fireplace poker and smack it into a wall right before he smacks the wall into his nose and crashes in an overall clad heap on top of the poker.”

    Dame, c’mon, how is this any different from the behavior of a number of grown men (who shall remain nameless) on a typical Saturday night? Sounds like the kid’s a perfect Galeone!

  7. #11 by Tiffany N. York on August 8, 2013 - 9:09 pm

    Andy–if you have stories, I’d like to hear them.(ahem)

    • #12 by Andy on August 8, 2013 - 10:22 pm

      Haha, is it possible to be friends with Damien and NOT have bawdry tales?? Alas, I’m no match for Damien’s story-telling wizardry and would hate to ruin (or become fodder in) any future blog posts.

      • #13 by Damien Galeone on August 9, 2013 - 3:01 am

        Oh boy…this is going nowhere good fast!

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