...


THE RITUAL

When parents leave their beloved child with the babysitter, it is a trying moment. No matter how much they trust the sitter, they can never completely relax. Never be absolutely one hundred percent certain that everything is just peachy fine with the little one. I mean, you just never know. That babysitter might be nuts. Or that babysitter might be Sam's grandpa. Not sure which is worse. So in the interest of full disclosure, and to reassure nervous parents, as well as those Youngsamwise fans who are not quite sure about this odd fellow, I should confess that for the past month when Sam comes down to visit me, the first fifteen minutes are taken up by a very specific, if strange, ritual.

As he comes in the door he is already saying “Hey Ya, Hey Ya…” over and over until I put on the Outkast hit and we start dancing and singing. Now, this is a lovely happy little tune by easily one of the finest bands on the planet. But it’s not quite I Want to Hold Your Hand…. If you're one of the ten people who've never heard it, listen to it here (then scroll down to Outkast and click on the "listen to Hey Ya" button). Fortunately, Sam’s parents also like the tune and Sam is as tyrannical with them as he is with me.

Next he climbs into the big chair and starts whacking at the computer…. “Oh, you want Homestar Runner?” “Yes, uh huh,” the boy says, shaking his head up and down. So I pull it from the internet. He watches, entranced, by one of the more bizarre offerings on the Web. It’s hard to explain, and wasn’t done for kids. But this kid loves it. Check it out here. I recommend you visit the Games section, click on Dancin Bubs and make that boy dance. Sam can’t get enough of it. His favorite music for this dance is “Local Guy”. Find it on the music option; you’ll know you’ve found it when 30 seconds of it starts to drive you very quickly insane.

Next- and here we must urge his Dad not to look at these photos- he starts calling for “bubbles!” So sometimes, not always, I will indulge him. See, these are not ordinary bubbles. These are bubbles that you can catch (on your fingers, on your head), stack, push around. They last forever. Paul finds them far too freakish to feel entirely comfortable with his boy frolicking amongst them. A veritable bubble blizzard. I have done what I can to research their composition and assure myself that they are, in fact, non-toxic, but there is no denying that there is something about them that suggests a Chernobyl side project. Just not natural. Bubbles should pop. Not squish. But Sam loves them, as does his crazy grandpa, and who am I to denigrate one of 2002's best inventions, according to Time Magazine.

And yeah, they do come off his head easily. And yeah, I’ve got three stuck to the ceiling that have been their for more than a month now.

After the ritual we settle down with a good book. Or a thousand good books. Or a trip to the park. Or downtown. Or to fabulous parties...(stay tuned for a recounting of that adventure).

Ah life...

p.s. the juggling-sack-in-the-mouth photo below is one of the funniest pics ever taken of Sam. It's good to know that the Brits more than match me in general insanity.