Izzy: "Oooh, they're playing Hong Kong."
I laughed out loud at that one.
Izzy: "What? What are you laughing at?"
Daddy: "You called it Hong Kong"
Izzy: "What is that game called?"
Daddy: "Table Tennis but most people call it Ping Pong."
Izzy: "Oops, I missed that one I guess."
There is a slightly guilty pleasure I get, probably most parents get, when your child does something that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are yours. The kids likely aren't even aware they are doing it but in observing the behaviour, a signal is sent to your brain that says "This kid could not be anybody's but mine because that is just what I would have done."
For example, the smile of pride that crossed my face as my five year old daughter beamed at every Mexican within view, all the while screaming 'Deep in the Heart of Texas'. Not because I support the taking of land from the Mexicans but more because it's the fly in the ointment thing to do, the thing to annoy that you can still claim innocence and ignorance...especially when your five. "It's just a song, I didn't know it meant anything bad when I was singing it,' or 'It's just a building, I didn't know it meant anything, I just had to pee.' As she continued to belt it out, I went to her and hugged her.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said. "Just looking for the tattoos."
"I don't have any yet." she replied.
By that same token however, there are things that come out of Isobel that stupefy. They are not obvious legacies from Mrs. Narrator nor from me. Not even The Boy can claim any influence on some things. Some things are pure Izzy.
We were at the pool and this year she is finally big enough to go in on her own without constantly being held or caught by an adult. And she has become virtually fearless. She will first jump into the pool to get herself wet and then the show begins. She will stand along the edge of the kiddie pool and start genuflecting in ways that would make the pope jealous. First she will shake her hands and feet, (must get that blood flowing for all this activity) next the head and neck shaking, (not for warming up the neck but to get the hair in the correct swimming position as I have been informed) the hands are then firmly clasped above the head in a prayer like position (it's how you dive, Daddy) finally the feet first leaping entry into the two foot deep pool followed by the quick hands up coughing because the mouth was not closed. "Hah!" she screams in triumph. And it's a 9.5 from the Lituanian judge!
This afternoon, the pool was a little on the cold side. I could tell by the 'holy crap, daddy!' But she suddenly summoned up the courage (an a little Dean Martin) and said "It's a little cold but I'm just gonna go for it. OK?" She punctuated the OK with a grin and finger pointed in my direction. Alright so I'll concede Deano's mannerisms but the rest is Vintage Isobel.
We were swimming the other day and Isobel asked for Mrs. Narrator to hold onto her while she swam but it wasn't because she was afraid of the water or unsure of her abilities as a swimmer. No, in the short time we have been here Izzy has become a died in the wool, under the water, don't hold onto me i can do it myself, Daddy watch this, turning underwater summer- saults little fish. In a two week period she has become almost as agile in the water
as The Boy.But no she wanted Mrs. Narrator to hold her so she could perform her 'moves'. Laying back with her head in the water and her arms rigidly locked into contorted positions as her hair billows in the water when she turns. She did it forever it seemed. But only with Mummy. Daddies, apparently are not capable of performing the same way. It's the arms that got me...It looked like synchronized swimming for the spastic...
"She looks like she doing synchronized swimming," said Mrs. Narrator.
"She looks like an Esther Williams movie!" I said using any opportunity for an obscure reference.
"Where in the hell would she see an Esther Williams movie?" Mrs. Narator asked. I quipped something about it being the same place she would see synchronized swimming movies but all the while I'm thinking, 'Who in the hell is showing my kid technicolour swimming movies from the 40's?' and praying to god she never sees anything by Busby Berkely, I don't think we can afford the production costs...
There comes a time in every father's life when he must let go of his little girl and watch her go off with a young man to start a new life. I didn't really figure it would happen when she was five. Yes my little girl met a little boy down here.
At first it was just playing and splashing around in the kiddie pool with him. They seemed to connect on a deeper level than their years, they seemed at least six or seven. Hell, he even got her to go into the hot tub. A first for anyone and she sat and waited for him when he was taken into his condo. And she continued to wait until it broke my heart watching her look over to the door he went in. I went to her and tried to comfort her as best as I could.
"Why did he go, Daddy?"
"He had to go have his lunch." I said. "Everybody needs to eat lunch now and again."
Soon we too were eating lunch and It seemed as though she had put it all behind her, forgotten about him. By the next day it was back to normal and she was back to splashing and carrying on by herself...until he came out and got into the pool.
They played well and he told her it was his last day at the resort. Still he seemed to play hard to get but love will not be stayed nor deflected by petty games. Izzy saw her chance and took it. She grabbed his hand and told all who would listen that this was her boyfriend...There will be a short reception following nap-time...
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