Category: To Be Young

Pete and Repete were brothers. Twins even.   Growing up, Repete was always jealous of Pete’s normal name. “Mom, why did you name me something so weird?” he asked once.

“You have a lovely name. It’s so cute. I just love how the names sound together. Pete and Repete. Pete and Repete. Pete and Repete. See?” she said.

“But the kids at the playground say that it’s not a real name,” Repete said.

Just then, Pete dashed in through the front door.   “Ree, where are you?” he yelled.

“In here,” Repete said.

Pete stomped into the kitchen. “I told them they were all meanies and threw sand at them for you, Ree. I should have punched them in the nose!” he said.

“Pete, what have I told you about fighting?” Mom said.

“Not to?” Pete asked.

Mom sighed and started talking about using words and walking away and treating people with respect and kindness. Her conversation with Repete was forgotten. He never asked again.

When they finally started school, it only got worse. They arrived for kindergarten orientation and learned that they were being sent to separate classes. They asked their mom to fix it and make sure that they were in class together, but their mom refused. “It’s good for you. It will build character,” she said. Dad agreed.

They went to Pete’s class first. They found his seat and began unpacking his school supplies. “Look, Pete,” Repete said. “They spelled your name wrong. Your nametag says ‘Peter’.”

“You’re right,” Pete said. “Let’s go tell the teacher.”

They found her and waited for her to finish talking. “My name is spelled wrong on my nametag,” Pete said. “It’s just Pete, not Peter.”

“Let’s check with your parents,” the teacher said.

She followed them back to the table. “Is your son’s name officially Pete and not Peter?” she asked.

“Yes,” Dad said.

“All right,” the teacher said. She made a new nametag.

They went to Repete’s class next. The boys ran ahead to check the nametag. It said ‘Repeat’. “Yours is spelled wrong too,” Pete said. “Come on, let’s tell your teacher.”

The boys found the teacher and waited for her to finish talking. “My name is spelled wrong on my nametag,” Repete said.

“How should it be spelled?” the teacher asked.

“R-e-p-e-t-e,” Pete said.

“That can’t be right,” the teacher said.   “Let’s go talk to your parents.”

They followed the teacher to Repete’s table. “Mom, tell her how to spell my name,” Repete said.

“R-e-p-e-t-e,” Mom said.

“Really,” the teacher said. “Well, I guess I’ll make him a new nametag.” Shaking her head, the teacher walked away.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Repete whispered.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Pete whispered back.

After the first day of school, Pete and Repete jumped out of the car and ran to their room to talk. “How was your day?” Repete asked.

“Boring. School takes too long,” Pete said. “I did like recess. How was your day?”

“Whenever the teacher called on me, the class just said whatever she said last.   Like an echo,” Repete said.

“That’s awesome,” Pete said. “It sounds pretty funny.”

“I guess it was,” Repete said. “I told her she could call me Ree like you do, and she started right away.”

“And no one made fun of your name?” Pete asked.

“No,” Repete said.

“Your day was better than mine. Maybe we should trade names?” Pete said.

“Who wants to watch a movie?” Dad asked.

“Me!” Paul and Peter and Lisa said together.

“Not me,” Mom said. “I have an appointment.   I hope you all have a lot of fun while I’m gone.”

“I’m sure we will,” Dad said. “You’re missing out.”

“I know,” Mom said. “We’ll just have to have another movie night tomorrow.” The children cheered.

“I have no problem with that,” Dad said. “Be safe.”

“Of course,” Mom said. Then she left to get ready.

“As soon as everyone is done eating, we can pick a movie,” Dad said.

“That will take forever,” Peter said. “Paul eats one noodle at a time.”

“I do not,” Paul said.

“He doesn’t,” Lisa said. “He tries to fit a noodle on each prong of his fork before he eats a bite. So he eats four noodles at a time.”

Peter groaned. “That’s no way to eat macaroni and cheese. Pretend you’re a dinosaur, Paul, and eat big bites.”

“I don’t want to,” Paul said.

Mom came back into the kitchen. She was wearing a sweater and her purse was looped over her arm. “I need to give everyone hugs before I go,” she said.

She hugged Dad and Lisa and Peter. “Wait,” she said to Paul. “You have orange cheese sauce on your fingers. I don’t want that on my shirt.” She handed him a paper towel. He wiped his fingers. Mom hugged him. “There, that’s everyone.   I’m off!”

She left. Peter pretended to be a dinosaur and growled and ate big bites of pasta. Lisa rolled her eyes. Paul looked at his plate. He ate a normal-sized bite of noodles. Everyone continued to eat. Paul was the last to finish.

“Time to pick a movie,” Dad said. “What is everyone in the mood for?”

“Dinosaurs and Aliens,” Peter said.

“That movie about the arctic explorers who all die tragic deaths,” Lisa said.

“The one about the silly robots,” Paul said.

“It sounds like no one agrees. I guess that means I pick,” Dad said. The children all groaned. “I pick that movie about the spies and the pirates.”   The children groaned again.

“Wait,” Paul said. “I think I like that one. Yay!”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the popcorn ready.”

Soon, everyone was snuggled up together on the couch. The movie started. The spy strolled across the town square, checking his watch.

“I need a blanket,” Paul said.

“Run and get it,” Dad said.

“Won’t you stop the movie?” Paul asked.

“Nope,” Dad said. “Hurry.”

Paul hurried away. Several minutes later he was back. He settled on the couch and tucked the blanket around himself. The spy was climbing the outside of a building.   “Why’s he doing that?” Paul asked.

“Shh,” Lisa said. “Just watch. You’ll see.”

Paul frowned and settled back in his blanket. He leaned back and shifted to the right and left. “I want a pillow,” he said.

“Then go get one,” Dad said.

Paul left again. He returned and glanced at the screen. The spy was jumping from a plane high above a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean.   “That looks cool,” Paul said.   “Is he friends with the pirates?”

“Just sit and watch,” Peter said. “You’ll figure it out.”

Paul walked to the couch and frowned. “I want my rocket ship,” he said.

“Where is it?” Dad asked.

“In my room,” Paul said.

“Hurry back,” Dad said.

After a long while, Paul returned with his toy rocket ship and several toy cars.   “What did I miss?” he asked. He looked at the screen. “Wow, a swordfight. Is that the pirates?”

“Just sit down,” Lisa said. “Stop getting up and leaving and you’ll know what’s going on.

Paul sat down and tucked his blanket around himself. He arranged the toys on his lap and leaned back into the pillow. He looked up at the swordfight.   “I’m hungry,” he said. “Where’s the popcorn?”

“All gone,” Peter said.

“No one saved me any?” Paul asked.

“You can pop some more,” Dad said. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Paul said. “But you guys should have saved me some.”

He grabbed the bowl and left. After a while he returned with a full bowl. “I popped three bags. We won’t run out now. And I’m nice and will share with everyone,” he said.

He handed the bowl to Dad and tucked himself in with his toys. He grabbed a handful of popcorn and started eating it. “Who’s the girl? Is she a pirate too? It’s silly to wear shoes like that to climb all those stairs. She should take them off so she can run faster,” he said.

“She needs the shoes for later,” Lisa said. “She probably should take them off and carry them.   Quiet, I want to see the next part.”

Paul took another handful of popcorn. “This is salty. I’m going to get a drink.”

He left for a while. He returned and tucked himself in once again. “Is that a palm tree? Where are they?”

“Paul, we can’t explain everything you missed.   The movie’s almost over,” Dad said.

“Can we start it at the beginning again?” Paul asked.   “I think I’m ready now.”

“Maybe we’ll watch it again later,” Dad said.

“Tomorrow?”

“Probably not,” Dad said.

“Can we watch the robot movie tomorrow?” Paul asked.

“I think tomorrow we’ll let Mom pick,” Dad said.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride that roller coaster?” Jim asked as they drove past the fair. “It looks amazing.”

“I’m sure it would be buckets of fun,” Grandpa said.

“Fun doesn’t come in buckets, Grandpa,” Lynn said. “That’s silly.”

“It did when I was younger,” Grandpa said.

“Oh good, a Grandpa story,” Jim said. He shook his brother’s arm. “Neil, wake up.   Grandpa is going to tell a story.”

Three sets of eyes turned to watch the back of Grandpa’s head. “Is everyone ready?” he asked.

“Carrie’s asleep,” Lynn said. “But she’s too little to really understand what we’re talking about anyways.”

“Don’t wake up Carrie,” Jim said. “She’s really grumpy when she doesn’t get enough sleep. It’s kind of scary.”

“Go ahead and start the story, Grandpa,” Neil said. “Please.”

“All right then,” Grandpa said. “Long ago, when I was a lad and the earth was young…”

“You make it sound like you’re as old as dinosaurs,” Lynn said. “That really can’t be true. People don’t live that long.”

“Well, sadly, I’m even older than dirt,” Grandpa said.

“How can you be older than dirt?” Neil asked.

“When I was young, the earth was still covered in packing peanuts, just the way they sent it from the factory. The dirt came later when everyone got busy and fell behind on washing up,” Grandpa said.

“Where did the dirt come from?” Jim asked.

“Out of nowhere, like it always does,” Grandpa said.

“Dirt is mostly made up of minerals and decayed things,” Lynn said. “And no one is older than dirt.”

“Let Grandpa tell the story, Lynn. We still haven’t heard about the buckets,” Jim said.

“Fine,” Lynn said. “But it’s not a true story.”

“Stories don’t have to be about things that really happened to be true,” Neil said.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Lynn said.

“Shall I continue?” Grandpa asked.

“Yes,” Jim said. “Please do.”

“So, when I was a lad, no one liked to do anything. We all sat around and looked at each other when we weren’t out poking through the packing peanuts for something to eat. I once spent ten years digging a hole in a rock with my big toe for something to do.”

“And then what happened?” Neil asked.

“And then someone found the fountain of youth,” Grandpa said.

“Is that how you lived so long?” Jim asked.

“No, the fountain of youth doesn’t make you old.” Grandpa said. “Of course not. The fountain of youth made things fun.”

“How did that work?” Lynn asked.

“Well,” Grandpa said. “Fun used to be dispensed twice a month in buckets. You would pour it over the activities that needed it the most.   Eventually it soaked in and people liked doing strange things like being scared or sitting around listening to noises.”

“People don’t like doing things like that,” Lynn said.

“Sure they do,” Grandpa said. “They ride roller coasters and go to haunted houses and tell scary stories. They put together strange contraptions made of metal and wood and people sit around and listen to the sounds they make. They call it music.”

“I guess when you say it like that,” Lynn said.

“Where are the buckets now, Grandpa?” Jim asked.

“They don’t need them anymore,” Grandpa said. “People know how to have fun.”

“Where is the fountain of youth?” Neil asked.

“I forgot,” Grandpa said. “Old people forget things all the time, you know.”

“Grandpa, you aren’t really that old,” Lynn said.

“How old are you, Grandpa?” Jim asked.

“Oh look,” Grandpa said. “We’re home. Everybody out. I’ll wake Carrie.” He never did answer the question.

Claire rested her chin on her arms and watched her grandmother crochet. The fine white thread was slowly being twisted and knotted into a fine, lacy doily. “It’s so pretty, Grandma,” Claire said.

“Thank you, darling,” Grandma said.

She continued to crochet, and Claire watched. “Grandma,” Claire said after several minutes. “Can you teach me to do that?”

“I’d love to teach you,” Grandma said. “Give me just a moment to finish this round.” She stitched a little longer and then poked her crochet hook through the doily and wrapped it together with the thread and the pattern and set it on a shelf of the bookshelf.

Then she left the room and returned with a large ball of pink yarn and a fat crochet hook. “I’ve been hoping you’d ask,” she said. “I’ve been saving this just in case. Now, watch closely.”

She showed Claire how to make a slipstitch and had her try. Then she taught her to single crochet. Then double crochet. Claire patiently watched and copied what her grandma taught her. “Very good, Claire,” Grandma said.

Claire finished her row and put down the hook, careful not to let it slip out of its loop. “Grandma, when will I learn how to make the pretty webs you were making?”

Grandma laughed. “They’re doilies, dear. It will take a little bit of practice before you get there. I think it won’t take you long. You’re learning really quickly.”

“Doilies?” Claire asked. “What are doilies for?”

“They’re to be pretty. If I leave them under a vase, they can protect the table like a coaster would,” Grandma said.

“Oh,” Claire said. She looked disappointed.

“What’s wrong, dear? What did you think they were for?” Grandma asked.

Claire looked down at the pink ball of yarn and rolled it back and forth, a few inches at a time. She mumbled her answer. Grandma leaned forward a little. “Say it again, I didn’t quite catch that,” she said.

“A web,” Claire said. She looked up. “I thought it was a web.”

“And what would I do with a web?” Grandma asked. “Did you think that I’m secretly a spider?” She laughed.

Claire looked down and pushed around the ball of yarn again. “No,” she said. “Of course not.” She frowned.

“Then what did you think?” Grandma asked.

Claire sighed and looked up again. “I thought you were helping the spiders,” she said.

“But the spiders make their own webs,” Grandma said.

“I thought maybe there were some spiders who can’t because they’re sick or got hurt or something. So you were making webs for them,” Claire said.

“My doilies wouldn’t catch them any bugs,” Grandma said.

“They would if you sprayed them with sticky stuff,” Claire said. “And even without it they would be a nice place for spiders to sleep.”

Grandma smiled. “So you wanted to learn to crochet so that you could help the spiders too?” Claire nodded, and Grandma gave her a big hug.   “That’s really sweet.”

“But the doilies can’t help the spiders?” Claire asked.

“Maybe they could, but I don’t know how I’d find the spiders that need them.   I think the other spiders know best how to help them, because they can speak spider language and we can’t,” Grandma said.

“Oh,” Claire said. She frowned.

“But I could teach you how to make a hat,” Grandma said. “We could make hats and give them to humans who have cold heads.” She smiled.

Claire smiled back. “I like to help,” she said.

“I know you do,” Grandma said. “I like that about you.”