Be Very Very Quiet

Every day at some point, I summon my father’s technique of keeping the car relatively fight free by making us engage in a decade of the Rosary. Each child gets to give a petition. No editorials are allowed, but God sometimes gets requests that sound largely like hints to the driver. “That Mom might take us to the park…buy milk shakes…not yell if I tell her I got a homework slip…”

Graciously, I have not outlawed these, as I do point out, sometimes the answer to these prayers/petitions is yes and sometimes, it’s cert denied. They’ve figured out what that means from context.

One day, my newly four year old son raised his hand first, eager eyes and a wide smile, “I have one.”

Pleased to see him join in the fray, as he usually would hold back and then repeat one that someone else said, or say something silly, I signaled to everyone else, Bo-bo is going first.

“Bunnies.”
“What?”

“I’m praying to God for bunnies. I’d like one as a pet. They’re so soft and cuddly. I would pet it and love it and it would make me very happy.”


The great silence that followed was broken by the oldest leading everyone in the first “Hail Mary.” I said it, but sat there at the red light scrolling through the many rationales a parent might give a child for denying him a fluffy rodent as a companion.

Now I had many plausible, rational, intelligent reasons for refusing. There was however, the personal factor. You see, I had been in my son’s shoes. I had prayed for a bunny. I had even co-opted my carpool to school into praying a makeshift Novena for me to get a rabbit when I was in second grade. My mother found herself reluctantly hoping for a floppy eared creature to grace our lives.

I was in YMCA Indian Princesses, and every year they held a turkey scramble. For those uninitiated in this yearly festivity, it was a game where all the girls were divided into groups by age, lined up in a field, and at the other end of the field, scattered about like Easter eggs, were chickens, turkeys, guinea pigs and rabbits. The emcee would blow his whistle and the girls would run at the critters. If you caught it, it was yours. If you caught a turkey, you got a frozen one for your family. (It was held the day before Thanksgiving).


Naturally that year, I caught the smallest, most ill tempered bunny ever to escape Watership Down. Upon our first magical meeting, she gave me a three inch gash in my wrist with her paws, earning the name, “Scratchy.” She lived in a hutch built by our saintly next door neighbors, who also saw to it she wanted for nothing, including extra carrots and attention when the wandering mind of an especially dreamy me forgot about my perpetually irritated pet. She lived through my ninth grade year, her temper never improved.

Flashing forward back into the car as the light turned green, his sister took the lead and prayed that her brother’s prayer would be answered yes. Every parent worthy of the name, has needed to summon the steel to deny their beloved offspring a vocalized clear heart’s desire.
In some instances, this is startlingly easy.


“Can we get a pool?”
“No.”


“Can I have (insert electronic device of your choice from any and every age asked every hour on the eights for weeks at a time)?”


“Nyet. Nine. Nada. Not happening.”


“That I get a bunny.”
....

Despite being in Texas, I could just hear my mother busting a gut laughing, “It’s your turn! It’s your turn!” as I fretted. I also knew getting one would be completely absurd and opted for the cowardly tactic of waiting this one out. I’d ignore it entirely.

Bunnies kept hopping into my path though.

One ran through our backyard that evening.


We saw one at the park the next day.


When it was raining, the kids put on a DVD. It was Bugs Bunny.

I was still playing the ignore card, though I tried to let it slip that we shall have nothing requiring house breaking until the kids stop breaking the house.

“Besides, your sister isn’t potty trained yet.” Trump card parental gold I think.

The next day, my four year old took his sister by the hand and led her to the potty. “If you learn, maybe we can get a pet bunny.” He explained. She sat. I stewed.

Now they’re fighting dirty.
I’m still holding out for childhood amnesia, but, for as long as it’s rabbit season.
Duck season!

Originally Run 4/24/2008....