The other day I was sitting on a neighbor’s stone wall, sipping lukewarm coffee from a pre-used cardboard container selected from my private stash. (I have about 50 of them in two Walmart shopping bags, collected over many years as a NYC coffee shop afficionado.)
I started to think about a convo I had with a neighborhood kid during lockdown and remembered transcribing it for use on my blog. I also remember planning to call the story, “How To Talk With A Four-Year Old.” But I never wrote it. So, today, I bring you Zigggy in all his four-year-old glory and our wonderful, oddly spacy pandemic chat.
How It All Began
For those of you unacquainted with four-year-olds, especially boys, you may find the following dialogue unusual or even X-rated. But it’s the kind of back-and-forth I love with kids and a great example of how to talk with a four-year-old. This is what happened.
In August of 2020, my husband Don and I bought a cat stroller so that we could include Fluffypuss and Peekaboo on our multiple daily walks. Over weeks, the girls and I became conversation pieces, the object of amusement and delight, and a surefire distraction from the horrors around us.
Do You Believe in Magic?
Fluffypuss, Peekaboo, and I could’ve easily walked up and down other streets, but I needed a comfort zone where things felt familiar and safe. Wiping away a tear, I happened to look to my left and, as if appearing from out of the mist of day, I saw a woman and a little boy.
They were examining a pile of leaves, rotting and stinking from a recent downpour and unseasonably mild weather, thanks to global warming and our city’s sanitation engineers, two months late with leaf pick-up.
The magical appearance of a mother and her kid lit up the happy place in my brain and I got to work, discreetly arranging my brown and gold paisley mask on my face and positioning the stroller in the middle of the sidewalk.
This would, I hope, force the oncoming duo to stop, at which point I would spring my trap: a conversation from which it would be desperately difficult for my victims to escape.
Suddenly the kid broke free of his mother’s grip and came hurtling down the street, his head turned sideways. As he approached the stroller with collision force, I reached out and grabbed him, holding tight to his jacket and pulling him to a dead stop.
My finely-tuned teacher’s reflexes had kicked into action, preventing the kid’s head from exploding like a seedless watermelon from its impact against the stroller’s handle.
The little boy looked up at me, startled, and I reinforced my death grip on his jacket until his mother joined us. Stunned silence from all parties.
How To Talk With a Four-Year-Old
Boy: “I’m Ziggy.” (His enormous grey eyes pierced my heart like arrows of love.)
Me: “Hi, Ziggy. I’m Amy.” (Play it cool, girl, I told myself.)
Ziggy: “What’s them in that?” (Pointing to the stroller)
Me: “Oh, them in that are my babies, Fluffypuss and Peekaboo.” (I am such a mom.)
Ziggy: “I wanna pet them. Open it.” (Sticking a finger in the space between the stroller’s lock and hood and poking F-Puss in the eye. Meow…)
Me: “If I open it, Fluffypuss and Peekaboo will jump out and run away and it will be your fault. But, when we’re able to visit one another’s houses, you and mom can come play with them.” (I mentally pencil him in for July 17th.)
Ziggy: “Hey, you! Lady! You wanna know what? Morgan takes out his penis and talks to it.” (Kid, you can’t shock me. As a teacher, I’ve had two-year-olds tell me to go f&%k myself.)
Mom: “Ziggy, that’s not nice.” (This sounded way too automatic, as if she’s said it a hundred times.)
Me: “Whose Morgan?” (Maybe it’s the dog.)
Ziggy: “My brother. He’s six. I’m four.” (I’m two.)
Me: “What does Morgan say to his penis?” (The devil was alive within me.)
Ziggy: “He pretends his penis is Marshall from Paw Patrol and tells it there’s a ‘mergency.” (I considered posting this on our online neighborhood bulletin board.)
Me: “And what does Marshall the penis say?” (Wait for it…wait for it…)
Ziggy: “Ready for a ruff, ruff rescue!” (He’s the greatest joke teller in the whole wide world.)
Me: (I restrain myself from barking.)
A Sleepover is in My Future!
Mom: “I’m Gabrielle. And you’ve met Ziggy. My youngest. I have two more. Would you like to have him? Until he’s ready to go off to college?” (OMG, she was serious.)
Me: “Sure. He can sleep in the basement.” (And do the laundry.)
Ziggy: “I picked up the house and under there it was a pirate treasure of gold moneys and stupid dead babies from the forest where it rained a lot but you couldn’t go swimming ‘cause the water had a giant penis – “(This topic clearly brought out his gift for erotic literature.)
Mom: “Ziggy! Stop!” (Was that rosacea or was she blushing?)
Ziggy: “Do you wanna have a sleepover at my house? I have raisins.” (I lived for raisins.)
Me: “Yes, but can we schedule it for some time during the holidays? I’m very busy doing nothing right now.” (I’d wear my blue sequined house slippers.)
Ziggy: “Is the holidays tomorrow? Can I let the cats out? Can I push the stroller? Can I eat your nose?” (He was turning me into 100% love mush.)
Me: “The holidays are in three months. You cannot let the cats out because they will run away and get eaten by the coyote stalking our neighborhood for dogs, cats, and little boys to devour for lunch. You cannot eat my nose ‘cause it’s the only one I have and I like it. You can, however, push the stroller with me.”
(I was going to secretly crazy glue his hands to it so he’d have to live in our basement, albeit permanently attached to the handle bars.)
With Gabrielle’s approval, I positioned Ziggy at the helm, put my hands next to his, and placed myself behind him. We began our walk, my legs splayed like a crab, as Gabrielle directed us away from raised sidewalks, muddy puddles, and large branches apt to catch in the stroller’s wheels.
Talking With a Four-Year-Old Is a Beautiful Thing
We walked around the block and then up steep and shady Bayview Street where Ziggy and his family lived. Fragments of his little boy chatter drifted my way in the cool winter air as I tried not to trip over his little boy feet.
Fluffypuss and Peekaboo cuddled together, observing the world safely through their netted windows as the sun shone bright and warm.
Our conversation was typical four-year-old stuff, alive with mysteries, enigmas wrapped inside mysteries, and the fantastical thoughts of a delightful kid ready to bring me inside his special world. It was easy to talk with Ziggy, even as I tossed in some sardonic comments here and there, because we really were talking.
I wasn’t shocked by what he said and took what he said seriously. I clarified reality a bit for him and gave him agency when he pushed the stroller. There were clear rules, I think, which helped us feel comfortable with one another.
Update: Two days later, I went to the eye doctor and on the check-in counter was this sign. What did I see? “Please put your used penis in the basket.” Cheers to you, Ziggy!
Not sure comment posted so doing again;
Oh how fabulous. My grandson is turning 2 in September. I miss being there but will use this info for future. Thank you Amy!
So glad my funny and serious “stuff” will be useful as you grandparent your little guy!