They have names, for one thing. The old Honda is "Stinky" because I often drove it for weeks without cleaning it. The Subaru station wagon is "Bob" and the old Ford Ranger pickup is "Wendy" because of these people. But I don't think I realized how much little Missy cared for these "people" until Monday night.
Bob has been sick, you see, and the man with the "car ambulance" came to take Bob to the "car hospital". OR at least that's how we explained it to a very troubled Missy.
The Peeper was delighted, as you'd expect from a boy who loves any and everything vehicle-related. You can see the big grin on his face in the picture below.
And you can see the worried look in Little Miss' eyes. She was silent through the process of getting Bob onto the rollback and towing him away. She was silent as we went back into the house after the excitement was all over. She was quiet for several moments after we closed the door.
And then the little lip began to quiver. The little eyes welled with tears. The small hand came up, the small arm was flung out to where Bob was last seen bumping down the street, and the little piping voice swelled into a pained cry of agonized loss: "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOB!!!"
She wept. Buckets.
She howled and cried and grieved for the departed Bob. She thrashed and whined and was inconsolable for an hour.
We went from baffled to horrified through giggling to desperate. How do you comfort a child grieving for a towed car???
Finally we managed to soothe her by - I'm not kidding - showing her a picture of a white Subaru Legacy from the Internet.
She hasn't asked about Bob since then, and he's ready to come home today. But buried in here somewhere is a cautionary tale, and I think it is "Encourage Your Kids To Name Your Cars At Your Peril".
Or something like that.
3 comments:
Reminds me of a fishing trip with a couple of nephews.
We had some beautiful redfish on a stringer, captive (but alive) in the water beneath the barge. The boys (ages 4 and 6) and I were admiring the fish when I suggested that we name them. Right then, their Mom (my sister) came up, saying "Can I talk to you, please?" When we were out of earshot, she explained that we'd be eating those fish in a few hours, thus "Don't name them."
Welcome home, Bob.
I don't think my kids have that much attachment to the cars, but I will say that kids get their car names from strange places. When he was four our son decided that our Gold Saturn was the "Safari Car" and it was never completely clear whether it was because of was the bushveldt colored paint or the letter on the S on the front of the car.
That's a great story. Your kids are cool. Bob sounds okay, too.
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