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2005-10-28
Andre can strap himself into his car seat now. On a recent Saturday, as he fed his arms through the upper straps he said, �I�ve got to start again. They are all twisted.� I started to help him but he told me, �I can do it, Aunt Sally.� And he can. I still marvel at the passing of time.

It was the same day we got into a long and crazy discussion about Sears and Kmart. I was telling the story to his mother, my dear sister Laura, about how I went to my local Kmart and it was now a Sears. I couldn�t find the mini ice cube trays I was looking for. When I asked for help and admitted my frustration, the clerk said she felt the same way.

�Why is it Sears now?� Andre asked and I had to go through a similar scenario as when his mother told him about Bank of America buying Fleet at the store. His retort at the end of that story was, �Why don�t they call it Fleet of America?� I don�t know, his mom said.

Back to the problems of middle America. �But why did Sears buy it?� he asked. I don�t know, I told him, they want to be bigger, I guess. �Why?� he asked. �Why don�t you like it?� So I told the story again, about all the items being moved around and then it turned out there were no mini ice cube trays and I couldn�t find something like wrapping paper.

�Do you like Sears?� he asked. I told him, no, I didn�t. I didn�t like that they took over the Kmart. I didn�t like how the store was set up. I got a little more heated up about it then I usually might. He was quiet. A few miles went by. �What about Sears?� he asked me with that grin on his face. We laughed.

Half a day went by with many activities and words and beverages and foodstuffs and actions and body movements. On the way home, he turned to me, very seriously. �What about Sears?� he asked. We laughed.

In the middle of a night when he wasn�t feeling good and had trouble sleeping, I tucked him into my bed and got in for a bit. �So,� he said at 2:30 in the morning, �what did you do today?� I recounted several activities. �What about yesterday?� I went over that day with its chillingly similar schedule. �Do you have any marshmallows?� was his next question.

He loves Shecky, my dog, and has quickly picked up on how to take care of him, including carrying him around in such a way that Shecky is nearly folded in half. �Where�s your banana?� he asks Shecky when he gets rambunctious and needs a toy. �He needs to go to school,� he told me recently. �He needs to learn how to behave.� This is all true. Here they are, riding the bumpy frontiers of the backyard with all the necessities of life -- calculator and sand toys.

Andre�s latest obsession is John Denver. Don�t ask. I�ll tell you. My dad has a DVD of the late John Denver. He put it on one day and Andre sat, transfixed.

He didn�t like John�s rendition of �Leaving on a Jet Plane� as it was too sad. He didn�t like knowing that John Denver died in a plane accident and it meant he wasn�t coming back.

He�ll put on his boots, even his rain boots, and get up on a stool and strum his guitar and mouth what looks like every word to �Country Road,� �Sunshine on My Shoulders,� and of course, �Country Boy.�

�Whoo! Thank god I�m a country boy, yessah,� he yells.

My dad, his beloved Baba, fashioned a fiddle for him out of wood. It�s a cutout, no strings yet. It has a bow. He can play it both sides, though he twists his arm underneath so he is holding it awkwardly, humorously. We laugh at this. �Don�t laugh at this,� he said, pointing with the bow to his hand.

Here he is, WHOOing it up with his guitar.



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