Yesterday Buster went to work with me for a couple hours because I had to be at work and he had to be off the streets until Mommy could collect him.
He brought the Kindle Fire with him so (in theory) he could play games while I worked. We’ve had some trouble with this theory in the past: he would try to play games he didn’t understand. This led to frustration, loud whining, and tears. This is not a good result for a usually quiet office setting, even when the loud whining was coming from him and not me.
Yesterday, the theory played out well. He’s getting better at figuring out games. More importantly, he’s getting better at figuring out which games he shouldn’t attempt to play until his skills are more accomplished: learning to read instructions, for example.
Everything went as well as could be expected, except he wouldn’t eat his muffin because he was too busy understanding how to play games. The important point is that he was not disruptive for big chunks of minutes at a time.
He played, quiet and happy, until he attempted a game requiring internet access. We have Wi-Fi at work, so I took his Fire from him to set up the connection. That’s when it hit me that I don’t know much about how to work a Kindle. I’m used to the iPad; the boys are the only ones who use the Kindle. I swiped and swiped but could not figure out how to find the Settings menu.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I can’t find Settings to connect you to the Internet.”
Instead of being disappointed and whining, my little boy who doesn’t know how to read said, “Maybe you should type in Settings.
Well, I’ll be damned if there weren’t a search field beckoning from across the top of the screen. Before I made it past the second t in Settings, the little gear icon popped right up. A few seconds later, Buster was playing his Wi-Fi enabled game.
No doubt, he was thinking how dim the old people are. That he wasn’t saying it out loud only shows what good manners his parents have instilled in him.
I, too, was thinking how dim old people are, specifically, me. I was also thinking about how disappointing it must be for him to discover how old and dim his dad can be.
Mommy came to get Buster and I went on with my work. I took consolation that I do my work with, and for, other old people; consequently they wouldn’t be bright enough to judge from it how dim I am.
Later, my wife sent me an email with the following attachment.
The hair alone is awesome. It reminds me of the hair I had when I was young and could program the VCR.
And this text:
Mom: That’s a great picture. Who is it?
Buster: It’s Daddy, awesome Daddy.
Old, dim, and awesome. I guess I’ll take it.
