“I’m sorry honey, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Boooooooooooooon,” he pleads.
I look around, we’re on a park bench in the Conservancy Garden in Central Park. There is nothing here but trees and grass and fountains, no boons.
“Ok, well…why don’t we head home and we’ll get you a spoon and…”
“No Mama, boon, boon!”
He points up to the clear-blue summer sky and there it is…a nice, big, red balloon floating right over the park. It must have escaped from a child’s nearby birthday party.
“Balloon!” I cry, “Balloon!! You’d like a balloon?”
“Yeth, Mama yeth!”
“Well…I will absolutely get you a balloon. In fact, let’s go get you one right now.”
On our walk home I stop at a toy store and get the little guy a helium filled Kung Fu Panda balloon and he thinks it’s pretty much the best thing that has ever happened to him.
The next day his beautiful babysitter arrives with her equally beautiful, visiting friend and the little guy is so excited he runs around and around the living room, balloon in hand yelling …”boon boon boon boon boon!” As we watch and laugh I begin to describe the story of how G asked for said balloon when we hear a deafening BAAMMM!
The destruction of the balloon on the corner of our very low coffee table is so loud, so thorough and so complete that we three ladies jump to our feet.
The little guy goes in the opposite direction, spread eagle on the floor.
He does not move. He does not cry. He stays very still for about 4 or 5 minutes contemplating the meaning of life and its many disappointments with his shattered boon by his side.