Yesterday’s trip to the farm reminded me of when my son, Jamie, was about two and a half years old and he suddenly declared: “I need to touch a pig.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I like pigs,” he said.
Having known Jamie for two and a half years, I knew this could go one of two ways. Either he would completely forget about needing to touch a pig within minutes, or he would not rest until I produced a touchable pig. I decided to wait and see.
The next day: “I need to touch a pig.”
The next day: “I need to touch a pig NOW.”
The next day: “When is my pig?”
On Saturday morning I suggested we go to the library.
“Ok,” said Jamie, “After I touch the pig.”
Hmm. The pig was not going away, this much was clear.
If we were going to touch a pig, we needed wheels. I called in a favour.
“Gus,” I said, “Jamie needs to touch a pig.”
“Why?” asked Gus.
“He likes pigs,” I said. “I know a pig farmer in Kinburn. Can you drive us?”
“Of course,” he said.
So we drove to Kinburn, where I had spent the last few years of my childhood. I used to babysit the pig farmer’s three children when I was 13 and they were 1, 2 and 3. They named their dog after me.
The pig farmer, Jim, came out of the barn as we pulled into the yard. It had been 10 years, but he remembered me.
“This is my son Jamie,” I said, “He needs to touch a pig.”
“Why?” asked Jim.
“I like pigs,” said Jamie.
Jim surveyed my two-year-old, and I suddenly flashed back on him surveying the squeaky-clean city kids who came to the farm on field trips and didn’t even know what bailer twine was.
“Oh,” said Jim, “Ok, wait here. I’ll get one.”
Jamie wriggled with anticipation as Jim disappeared into the barn. Moments later he emerged with a fat, angry, squealing piglet under his arm. It was having the piglet equivalent of a temper tantrum and it was thrashing wildly and making a terrible noise.
Jamie took one look at the screaming piglet, stepped backwards, put his hands firmly behind his back and said, “I don’t like pigs. Let’s go to the library.”
He’s 23 now. He has never touched a pig.
Very cute. Loved that entry.
It Reminded me of Kinburn and all that it means to me. It also made me think of when you and Jamie lived a block or two from Lansdowne on Earth day. He’s definitely your finest creation, so I suppose that means your knitting will always have to take second.
Cheers,
Tw
Aww Rob, I’m glad you liked that entry.
Earth Day…was that the Armx demonstration circa 1988, when he was drawing peace signs all over Bank Street with chalk? LOL. He was the cutest little activist…
You’re right about him being my finest creation. I hit the genetic jackpot with that kid.
[…] Other times, he wouldn’t let go until I conjured up whatever it was he needed, like the time he needed to touch a pig. […]