Fergus, a man who until recently neither minced nor wasted words, has suddenly become a talker of the most prolix sort. All the observations he has kept to himself for the past 4 years and 11 months are now tumbling out, a few times a day at least, in a rambling monologue delightful to my ears because he seems so much happier to be saying it all out loud.
We were playing catch the other day, and he kept up a constant stream of coach chatter:
FERGUS: Dat was a good frow Mommy. Da way to frow? Is not too high, not too low, and not too in the middle.
MOMMY: Then where should I throw?
FERGUS: Well. In da middle. But not SO da middle.
That night, he picked up his guitar, and serenaded me with a song he has been working on for some time, “The Biggest Race Ever.” Here is an excerpt:
And in the red car
There was a engine
And in the blue car
There was a trunk
It was the BIGGEST RACE EVER
Then, changing things up, he improvised a companion song, “The Smallest Race Ever.”
FERGUS: You wike dat one Mom?
MOMMY: I really did.
FERGUS: Want to hear anudder song?
MOMMY: Do you HAVE another song?
FERGUS: Sure. Iss called? “Da Mediumest Wace Ever.”
And gosh darn it, he sang a very long song about the Mediumest Race Ever, where nothing really happened, and there were no winners or losers. It was still at least as interesting as anything I’ve seen on TV recently.
Now that Fergus has a lot to say, I am noticing a fascination with things being in the middle or “mediumest.” Since he is my mediumest child, this is perhaps not so surprising. I am happy that he finds it such a good place to be.