Conversations with Ryan #2

Et tu, Woogie?

Last week, Ryan and I made a run to the local Home Depot (a.k.a., the orange borg). Lately, the Woog has insisted on riding in a kiddie cart every time we visit the blue or orange borg.

These are the carts that have steering wheels and seatbelts, and are trimmed out to resemble vehicles of some kind or another. The kiddie carts at the borgs are similar to the ones most box stores and supermarkets make available so that small children can pretend to be older. Because youth is wasted on the young.

Shopping with a well-stocked kiddie cart is kind of like pushing a mid-sized refrigerator on dollies, with your kid riding shotgun. They’re less responsive than a lumber cart, and only slightly easier to halt than an aircraft carrier. Since you can’t see the front of them, they’re hazardous to steer through the display-cluttered aisles of these stores.

So, while they’re frankly a godsend, under truth serum I’d have to admit that they’re also a menace to public safety and should be banned.

Anyway, as we returned the kiddie cart, Ryan pointed at the side and quizzed me on its various accoutrements.

Ryan: What is that?

Me: It’s a wheel decal.

Ryan: Wheel decal?

Me: It’s a sticker. It looks like a wheel.

Ryan: What’s that wheel sticker for? Why that’s on there?

Me: It’s easier to pretend that way. So kids can pretend easier.

Ryan: Pretend easier?

Me: Yeah, pretend that they’re driving a real car.

Ryan: Kids can’t drive cars in Home Depot. That would be silly.

Me: [Shrugs] I’m not sure if ‘silly’ is the right word, but it would be something.

Ryan: I can’t drive a real car.

Me: Nope.

Ryan: You can drive a real car, though.

Me: We better hope so.

Ryan: I’m a kid so I can’t drive a car.

Me: True facts. Gotta be 16.

Ryan: But you’re a grown-up and you can’t go to school.

Me: I get schooled every day, Boogie Woogie.

Ryan: [Frowns] What you say?

Me: Never mind. You’re right. I’m a little old to go to school.

Ryan: How old you are?

Me: How old am I? Uh, lemme think. [Thinks] I’m 29.

Ryan: Noooo. [Gives impish smile] That’s not how old you are.

Me: Sure it is.

Ryan: You’re 43, Dada.

Me: [Looks shocked] What? Where’d you hear that?

Ryan: Mommy said that.

Me: Huh. She must’ve gotten the numbers reversed or something. I don’t know. [Shrugs] Anyway. Let’s talk about food.

Ryan: Mommy said you’re 43 and I’m 5.

Me: What’s you’re favorite thing to put on pizza? Mine’s mushrooms.

Ryan: I told you Mommy said you’re 43, Dada.

Me: Yeah. I heard you the first time, Woogie. Thank you.

Ryan: You’re welcome.

Me: Well, did Mommy tell you how old she is? ‘Cause if not —

Ryan: You’re not 29.

Me: No, Ryan. I’m not 29. Busted.

Ryan: What you said that for?

Me: Why did I say I’m 29?

Ryan: Yeah. That’s pretty silly.

Me: Good question. I guess me saying I’m 29 is kinda like the wheel decal.

Ryan: You mean it’s pretend?

Me: Sure. And obviously fake.