Sunday night, I removed the gate from Ian’s crib and lowered the mattress. He now has a day bed. As Ian says, a ‘big boy’ bed.
For over two years, Kelly and I have lain our son in his bed each night, and have lifted him into our arms each day. Now, he climbs into bed by himself, and is on his feet before I can say ‘good morning’.
I like pirates. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the doubloons, or the eyepatches, or the buckling of swashes. I doubt it’s the scurvy. Whatever the reason, I was excited to learn that Mr. Krabs, SpongeBob Squarepants’s miserly taskmaster, speaks like an old sea dog.
His is the only voice I can come close to mimicking for Ian. So, when we arrived in Florida for this past week’s vacation, he already had a healthy dose of ‘Arrr!’ and ‘Avast, ye scurvy dogs!’ and ‘Shiver me timbers!’. (I realize these are all stereotypes, and I’m not quite sure I know what they mean, but do you know any pirates?)
In her pre-vacation planning, Kelly came across an advertisement for a pirate cruise, which docked just down the beach from our condo. A cruise of pirates. On a pirate ship. A pirate ship. And, because she loves me, Kelly actually told me about the cruise.
On the second day of our trip the family was floating chest-deep in the Gulf, when on the horizon we saw a mast. And another. And another. And flags, waving in the breeze. And…is that a crow’s nest? I think so! A pirate ship, sailing across the waves in the distance - which was quite a trick, considering it didn’t have any sails. That thing got a Hemi?
We pointed to the ship for Ian, and we all started doing our best imitations of Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush. (Again, do you know any pirates?) And Ian joined in: ‘Arrrr! Arrrr! Arrrrrr! Pite sip! Arrr! Pite! Pite sip! Arrrrrrr!’
The cruise was a little expensive, and I wasn’t sure if our vacation budget could stretch to include a little face paint and stale soda, but I knew this little scene would certainly help my case.
The next day we found our way to the boardwalk. There it was, wedged between a dolphin-cruise boat and a fleet of for-hire waverunners: the H.R.H. Not-Quite-A-Pirate-Ship-But-What-Do-You-Care-We-Have-Cool-Hats! Between the 2-litre bottles of Mountain Dew and outboard motors, it was painfully obvious that this wasn’t anything like a pirate ship. Free beer for adults? What kind of pirate drinks Bud Light!
But at that moment, Ian’s face pressed against the splintered posts, his hands grasping the railing like Kilroy, my son and I were twenty feet away from treasure maps, hidden lagoons, and Black Bart himself.
Unfortuately, the piratey games were a little too advanced for Ian, and the whole experience would’ve been lost on him. That didn’t stop us from asking for a couple pirate hats, nor did it stop us from slipping into our varyingly accurate guises of pirates throughout the day.
By dinnertime, we’d all gotten a lot better at our piratish emanations. Ian had even started curling his lip and squinting his eyes whenever he said ‘Arrr!’.
In the middle of our chicken curry, Ian suddenly realized that Daddy usually says more than just ‘Arrr!’ when he impersonates a pirate. Ian just wasn’t quite sure what it was.
‘Arrrr!’ We all laugh. ‘Arrrr…’ Ian pauses, and looks at each of us around the table, searching, waiting.
‘Arrrr…Daddy!’ He turns a squinty eye to Kelly. ‘Arr, Mommy!’ And to my sister. ‘Arrrr, Ju-ya [Julia]!’ And to my mother. ‘Arrrrrr, Ya-Ya!’ And to my mother’s friend, whom Ian had only met the day before. ‘Arrr…………Sarry [Sherri]!’
And me without my video camera.
