My earliest memories of Jack's emerging from the stage of Gerber bottles with content baby faces on gross food was a discovery of spaghetti or "basketti" in the words he eventually began to say. And he still calls it that as a six-year-old, although we will soon change that. He's in first grade now, and public school as a way of making sure that things like that go appreciated with laughter and derision. I hope I can let him say it a bit longer, and although he likes the stuff from a can, he prefers Pop Pop's spaghetti with everything but mushrooms. He did those when he was this age, but suddenly he became disturbed when he discovered their strange texture.
Jack began using "basketti" about the same time Pop Pop helped him experience cartoons. He would stand at the door with his mom, ring the door bell, and as soon as I opened it or his mom opened it, I would hear his tiny voice scream one word: "Hartoons!"
He was just a bit older than one at the time, and he was just getting the whole talking thing down.
That's when we let him eat spaghetti like this, and we soon recognized the mistake, because when we took him to North Carolina, we were in an expensive restaurant, and he ate the same way: with his hands, besmeared with the stuff that also covered his face and legs and arms. People would watch in shock, and then smiles would spread across his face. He didn't make a mess, except for himself, and he sat quietly eating and enjoying and savoring every moment.And do I feel guilt as a grandparent for teaching a child such a blatant lack of etiquette? Absolutely not! Why, I taught in a district, where an administrator never chewed with his mouth closed from the time he was one, and I know my Jack will never do that, because we'll teach him differently.
But how can you possibly deny a child joy like this?
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