When my children were small, I sang them many silly songs. They’d usually complain ‘Mom, do you HAVE to sing a song about EVERYTHING???’ If the truth be known, if I didn’t already KNOW an applicable song, I’d make one up on the spot. I just enjoyed singing to those poor suffering young souls.
Someone must have put something in the water they drink because as adults both Rafi and Susan have asked me to tape those very same songs. Interesting…
I started to, but life is a busy adventure and I never got too far with the task. Susan decided to take things in hand and get things started, so on our last visit to her and Michael, she filmed these three ridiculous videos. I admit I’ve never had so much fun or laughed as much.
It’s also nice to know that long after I’m gone, my children will have these absolutely stupid and awful videos of me in my old age singing a few of their favourites.
Lucky you! You can enjoy them too. Just click on the following.
You can also find them on YouTube and if we get millions of viewers, we’ll be rich. (Chuckle.)
When Rafi was about seven, we lived in Los Angeles. His pal Matthew came over sporting a spiffy baseball uniform. Rafi wanted to play baseball too. We’d already gone through the ‘Pele’ stage and Rafi loved soccer.
Still, before you could say ‘Jackie Robinson’, Mama was in line registering Rafi for the baseball season. Rafi enjoyed the uniform. Still that ball flies at deadly speed and the bat seems flimsy when you’re seven. Rafi expressed a little doubt.
Mama understood. She’d been a terrible baseball player. At school, no one wanted her on their team. Still, she knew Rafi would see it through.
The coaches, cousins Mike and Larry, were terrific. They treated each child with respect and the team members followed their example. Mama offered to help in any way.
They asked if she would be the team scorekeeper. ‘But I’m Canadian. All I ever saw was Hockey. I don’t know anything about baseball.’ They didn’t believe her. Surely everyone knows SOMETHING about baseball, right?
Rafi gained confidence. Mama’s education began. She needed to learn ‘baseballese’, a language which has nothing to do with English. Words like ‘grounder’, ‘fly ball’, and ‘double play’. For no reason Mama could understand, in baseball a point is a ‘run’, the referee is an ‘umpire’, who, being chicken hides behind the ‘catcher’, who is really a goalie. The umpire makes unintelligible loud noises that all sound alike but mean different things like ‘ball’ or ‘strike’.
Each child had a position and a special job to do. Mama tried, but besides knowing nothing about baseball, she was far from eagle-eyed. Replays in slow-motion would have helped.
Fortunately, expert assistance was usually at hand. Any stray 10-year-old would willing help, which led to some interesting conversations and wonderful friendships.
The parents got a kick out of Mama’s mis-calls. They too began to call runs ‘points’ and the ump a ‘referee’. It was all obviously in good fun.
Rafi learned quickly. He could now be counted on for patient, simple explanations. He watched Mama’s struggle with interest and perhaps a little pride. Mama wanted him to know she was no quitter either.
The coaches appreciated Mama’s effort if not her performance. At the end of the season, they presented her with an Award, which still hangs on her office wall.
The next year, with spring in the air and baseball in their blood, the team reassembled. Rafi was to pitch his first game. Mama was prepared to count runs and disagree with the umpire.
One dad had made a brand-new bat rack for the team. He painted the name of each player on it, and right there was Mama’s name. Imagine her delight.
Before my son Rafi was old enough for school, prior to my leaving for work each morning we’d do what I called our ‘Inspection Tour’ of our garden, which I loved. He grew to love it too.
Together we’d look for new blossoms, fruit or maybe even a baby tomato or radish.
Rafi named all our plants and we greeted each by name with a hearty ‘Good morning’.
(One was called ‘George’ because Rafi so enjoyed the ‘Curious George’ books.) I still believe plants like to be talked to.
I’m not surprised that today Rafi loves his own garden. Fortunately, his dear Chandra loves it as well and they spend countless happy hours together working to make and keep it beautiful. Mine was nice enough, but theirs is absolutely gorgeous!!
Aside from being spoiled rotten when I recently visited, I had the pleasure of looking directly out the door from my own room right into the colourful garden. What a beautiful sight to wake up to. What more could anyone want?
Every morning Rafi brought me coffee and breakfast and brought Germaine down to visit me. Chandra, Remy and Rafi carried meals down on large trays from upstairs for us to eat either in the garden, or in my suite. I gloried in being spoiled.
After I left, poor Germaine missed me and waited for me outside my door.