This is winding back the time when Crappy Boy was not yet two…
We have a funeral to attend. Friend of the family. Of course this means that all of our babysitters will be there so the only way for us to come is if we bring Crappy Boy.
I really don’t want to bring him so I offer to stay home. Let Crappy Papa go alone. A funeral is no place for an eighteen-month-old.
But as usual, the rest of the family talks me into it. It will be fine! Everyone loves to see babies at funerals, it makes them happy! If he gets loud you can step out! Everyone will understand!
I bring a whale of a bag. I have books and markers and stickers and toys and snacks and diapers and clothes stuffed in its belly.
We sit down in the very last row by the doors. He is happily and quietly looking at picture books.
The ceremony starts, “Friends and family, we are gathered here today…”
And all is well. For a moment, I think this will actually be okay.
Then suddenly, the pipe organ starts up. It is really loud.
Crappy Boy looks up from his book with wide eyes.
Immediately after the song ends they say, “And now may we have a moment of silence…”
And right then, right then when the entire room is completely silent, Crappy Boy starts CLAPPING for the music and yells:
(He must have thought it rude that nobody else appreciated the music. He was being encouraging to the pipe organ player!)
Amidst some shocked turned heads (and thankfully a few giggles) I snuck us out of there as fast as possible. For the next hour we busied ourselves with snacks and songs on a bench near Al Jolson’s monument. (The songs came about after Crappy Boy asked me about the Al Jolson statue and who he was.) It was a beautiful day with birds and flowers everywhere.
What started as complete embarrassment is now a lovely, lovely memory. One of my magical moment memories even.
It always works that way, doesn’t it?
Got one to share?
By the way, the family friend who died would have loved this story. So it’s all good.