Monday, June 4, 2007

observing wadi, 1983

Wadi and Cocki are the nicknames for my little brothers Robert and Scott

Living room, 6:15: Wadi sits in a chair, looking bored, thumb in mouth, walks over by mom who is on the couch and leans on the edge watching TV. He is wearing his Hulk shirt. He says to mom: “Mom, that plant grew big.” To Scott: “scott, Scotty, look!” he shoves a cracker in his mouth. He grabs another one while staring at the TV. “Mommy look, mommy look!” he says about a toothpaste ad. Scott wants a cracker. “Cotti they are all gone,” Rob says. He creeps into the kitchen, grabs another pack, and brings it into the living room, but mom says No. He climbs on the couch, turns the thermostat, goes and opens the front door, and goes out the other door. On the front lawn, he reaches up and tries to touch the flag, watches me, wondering why I keep following him. Mom asks if he has to go, he shakes his head. He puts his thumb in his mouth, pulls open the door, still watching me. When I follow him in, he says, “Brian, you’re writing about us – what are you writing?”

Later: as dad worked on the truck I wandered into the open garage. To my amazement I saw Scott prancing about on top of the camper. Surprised, I kept asking how he got up there. He did not say much, but then something quickly drew my glance away from Cocki. I turned and saw a guilty-faced Wadi standing motionless. I looked a little more and saw something dripping from behind his back. Looking down, my gaze rested on a small dark pool at his feet. Oh no! he must have wet his pants, I think at first. But then I reasoned that this liquid was a little too thick and rich to be you know what. “Wadi,” I began curiously, moving toward him. From behind his back he drew grampa’s yellow sprinker, dripping. He was quickly very cooperative. “it’s oil,” he said innocently, “I put it in the sprinkler.” He even showed from where he got the oil.

I dashed outside to find dad behind the noisy truck and just as I did I got a fleeting glance of a small figure fleeing toward the house. I told dad about it and said he was hiding. He said, “well, he has good reason to hide, that’s the second time he’s done it.” After cleaning up the mess, I went inside to try and scare Wadi out of hiding. Robert! Robert! You are in big trouble! Dad’s gonna spank you! Not until ten minutes later did he show.

Later, at lunch, as mom, gramma, and grampa were bustling about, Wadi and I began to act up. We started to throw crusts around, laughing. I’d call him a poopy. He’d reply by saying “You’re a pooly pooly in a BM!” Scott would laugh, shouting BM. I’d drink his milk, telling him to eat his poopy, and he would throw some crumbs at me. Mom would yell at us. Then I crammed some bread down Rob’s pants. He squirmed around in his seat, both hands down his pants. Just as Jen came in I said, “ew, Wadi, gross! Look, Jennifer!” and she would look sickened. Finally he pulled out most of the bread, looked at me and said, “you dirty rat.” Laughing, he ran into the living room, me in pursuit. I pulled him to the floor, shrieking.

Two nights ago, after dinner, Cocki and I wandered into the garage. Climbing up on a seat, he said, “deos – buttoofly cage!” and pointing. I asked him closely where it was. Looking unsure, he began to walk around the garage. “Where is it, Cocki?” I persisted. “umm. . . ohhh. . . deo dis!” he said, pointing triumphantly at a garbage can. “buttooflies in doggoo can.”

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