Scotty is a boy of contradictions. He can go silent for long stretches before giving a lengthy description of all his recurring dreams. He can cry for an hour over nothing (he used to do this every time he woke up from an afternoon nap), but he’s the only person I know who spontaneously slaps his knees while enjoying a good laugh. He can mercilessly cut his eyes and tell you succinctly and accurately why you’re not as good a parent as you think you are and then warm your heart the next morning with a naturally delivered apology that you never saw coming – Sorry, I beed mean to you last night. The best theory I have for explaining the paradox that is Scotty is that the child has a knack for staying in the moment. While the rest of us are busy running scenarios in our heads, he’s letting things happen, moods not excluded.
One of the benefits to experiencing life the Scotty way is that things aren’t so worrisome. Scotty doesn’t bother getting afraid of the ferris wheel until it stops while his seat is dangling from the very top. No sense fretting about it beforehand, or after. Getting off the ride and walking over to where I stand waiting, Scotty smiles and holds up two fingers. “I cried twice,” he says contentedly. It’s a lot like when he was a toddler and would climb to the top of those giant inflatable slides at the farmer’s market before becoming paralyzed and ultimately having to be rescued by his mother. He isn’t immune to fear, but he isn’t scared of being scared either, and the net effect is that he spends less time being afraid in general. When we’re on the twenty-second floor in a Chicago hotel room and the boys walk into Danyelle’s and my bedroom at 10 p.m. amid a violent thunderstorm, Cartter complains that “We’re scared.” Scotty corrects him by telling us, “I’m not scared. Cartter’s scared, and he won’t let me go to sleep.”
Of course, there are disadvantages to going through life so uninhibited, like finding yourself paralyzed atop a giant slide or being the object of disgust due to your senseless, post-nap screaming. From the vantage point of a worrier like me, though, it seems worth it. Living moment to moment lets Scotty enjoy life’s simple gifts. For instance, the boy has never encountered a piece of fruit that he didn’t find utterly delicious. He would eat apples and berries until he gave himself diarrhea. In fact, he has. When I offer the boys a banana, Scotty says, “Oh, yes! I would love a banana!” Cartter wants peanut butter on his, but Scotty says, “Not me. I just want a plain, sweet banana.” We have only one left on the counter, so I split it widthwise and hand Scotty half. When I split the other half lengthwise to apply the peanut butter, Cartter is disturbed by the little black flecks and slimy sheen inside. “What is that?” he wants to know. Scotty, already munching away, widens his eyes, turns his palms up, and cocks his head from side to side the way he does when he’s forced to point out the obvious. “It’s banana,” he says. “It’s sweet and delicious,” and he raises his half to his mouth and takes another big bite.
The Raging Elitist 