August 29, 2005

  • I now interrupt the continuous hurricane coverage to note down some memories of Max...

    He did like to walk on the wild side.  In the way of little boys
    he quickly determined what most bugged Dmitry, and on Saturday I was
    sitting in the living room when Max decided to enliven the evening by
    going into the hall where the bedrooms are, do something or other
    that'd get Dmitry's goat, then run like the wind into where I was, to
    jump on my lap.  Burned into my memory is the last time he played
    this dangerous game....his eyes were popping, mouth was open, little
    legs were pumping like pistons as he shouted "MAMA!", desperately
    trying to get to me before Dmitry got to him

    He made it, much to Dmitry's disgust.  Dmitry grabbed his head
    with his fists in frustrated rage, turning nearly purple with the
    violence of his feelings, then drew himself up, pointed dramatically at
    Max and throbbingly declared in ringing tones, "Soon I will teach him
    the meaning of PAIN!"

    "Oh, you will not," I replied.  "He's just a little boy."

    Plus I pointed out the fact he made his demented denunciation in English, which didn't mean much to Max.

    Muttering what sounded suspiciously like Russian imprecations, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his room. 

Comments (1)

  • I'll bet that Max got the general gist of what Dmitry meant, though. Earned thrashings from older "siblings" are a rite of passage.

Comments are closed.

Post a Comment