Duped

I was sadly duped last night. Some might even say deceived, although I’m not sure either word truly fits the offense. I don’t know if it was intentional, which is why I’m having a hard time defining it. Maybe just loose manipulation…

Let me set the stage for you: It was a cold but sunny evening so Max and Charlie were outside playing ball with our neighbors Daniel and Gideon. They had been out there for some time when Max rushed in to use the bathroom. I was sitting at the dining room table, staring at the computer and looking for words in my head.  When he was finished with his business, Max sidled up to me and asked, “What are you doing?” He thrives on moments like this, when he has me all to himself. He will pretend to be interested in watching ice melt if it means alone time with Bill or me. But I didn’t consider that reality when I answered I was working on more haiku poetry. He immediately began to read it aloud, counting the syllables to be sure I was adhering to the 5-7-5 form of the haiku. (I really want to go into more detail about this topic, but I must resist. The reason will become clear in the end.) I was not surprised by his immediate checking of my work, as he tends to be extremely black-and-white in his dealings with me. If there is a rule, I’d better be following it or he will call me out EVERY TIME. (Where does that characteristic come from? I wonder…)

He was suddenly struck by a line in one of the poems: “Twisting branches reach for it,” and told me he could write pages on the picture that line conjured in his mind. I told him he should, to which he promptly asked if I would write down what he said. And so we created a little prose poem together, and for a moment I was dwelling in my own little corner of heaven. Here I found myself sharing one of my passions, poetry, with my son, watching him find pleasure as well as his own creative voice in it. I fought hard to conceal my delight for fear it would somehow scare him back into his hole, much like Punxsutawney Phil upon seeing his shadow on Groundhog’s Day. So I silently squealed with joy as we sat and shared poetry.

And then it got better because Charlie showed up.  Upon seeing that Max and I were sharing something, he immediately wanted to joined us. “With pleasure!” I screamed within, and went on to explain in detail the form and function of a haiku poem to my 6-year-old, and how this line (which I read to him) had given Max inspiration to write his own poem. He seemed to be listening, and I was abiding in sheer bliss.

In response to their inquiries and requests, we started looking at my other poetry. I quickly offered to read them, and they just as quickly agreed to hear them. I came upon the poem A Gray Morning in March and preceded the reading with an explanation of where and when I wrote it. They posed more questions, mostly in terms of specifics relating to day and time, which to me seemed insignificant but I answered anyway. And then I read the poem aloud, slowly and using every bit of inflection I could muster. When I finished, I said, “Did you have pictures in your mind while I read?”

Charlie’s face dropped just a bit as he looked at me, his eyes beginning to glass-over, and with all sincerity and defeat said, “I don’t really listen so well.”

Max quickly followed with, “Me either. I don’t listen so well either.”

Charlie then motioned to the screen, pointing to the space between the first and second sections and said, “I heard you up to here. I couldn’t pay attention after that.”

It was then that I realized I had been duped. That while their interest may have been sincere for a moment at the start of our time together, somewhere along the way they recognized an opportunity and took it. They saw their chance to play on my love of poetry for their own self-gratification. They kept me talking and reading and going through detailed explanations so they could stay up just a little longer. But this plan only served them so well for so long.

What they failed to realize was the depth of this love their mother had for poetry, and ultimately her own self-gratification. They had no idea how deep this infatuation went, and while they felt pretty secure wading up to their knees in her babble, as they got waist high in it, they knew they were in trouble. When it rose to their necklines, they used the only life boat available to save themselves– the truth. They bailed out, and my heavenly plugged was pulled.

I laughed as I looked at my little manipulators, fully aware of the fact that they learned from the best. I laughed as much at them as myself in that moment. As I leaned over to kiss each one on the head, I exhaled the long-awaited and overdue words, “Go to bed.”