Lorikeet Days

Zack's common expression these days consists of slightly knitted brows combined with a rather unsmiling face, not a frown, but an expression of serious intent, void of flippancy. It is a far cry from the gap-toothed, giddy, baby smile he wore as an infant, or the giggly grin that he wore as a toddler. Now, more often then not, his face has a more self-conscious serious cast...until the look collapses when he forgets to wear it.

He is now very conscious of being A FIVE YEAR OLD and this has resulted in the abandonment of many of the practices of his early days. For instance, whenever I had to dry his soaking hair after bathtime, I would cover his head with the towel and, rubbing his hair vigorously, ask him "Where's the coconut? Where's the coconut? Oh, look it's a coconut...oh , no it's Zachery!". Without fail he would dissolve into fits of giggles. It was a game we played regularly after ever shampoo. Now Zack refuses to participate (indeed he has FORBIDDEN me to play "where's the coconut ever again...). He claims he is not a baby anymore and therefore won't do it.

I know that kids grow - both in physical diameters and in personal dynamics. Growth is what you want to see, what you hope for, what you teach...but as a parent I find it sometimes daunting when things that, to me, make up the arc of our relationship, get tossed abruptly out the door. There was a phrase from some sci-fi show I saw one time: "Understanding is a three-edged sword". I think this fits my feelings in this case. I love the fact that my child is growing, I love the fact that he is now assertive, strong and making his own mind up...but there is this pang I get everytime he throws away something that we have built as a part of the relationship. Something new is always there too, but still...

The other element of it is that I hope that he will understand that growing up doesn't mean throwing out all the spontaneous fun, enjoyment and fits of giggles. Zack tends to take the world a little too seriously at times, and is often too self-conscious for his own good, allowing it to stand int he way of great experiences.

With the summer heat hitting new highs and the air conditioner not functioning due to power restrictions, I decided that we would take a little expedition to the zoo. Zack was reluctant and frowning, but I exercised fatherly privilage and basically railroaded him into the trip. We packed up a picnic lunch in the backpack, hopped in the car and drove through horrendous traffic to the zoo.

We spent the first part of our visit hanging out in the small water playground, cooling off, which brought a slight smile to Zack's face but mainly manifested in complaints that the water kept getting into his eyes. We dried off and decided to have lunch on a picnic area beside the tiger exhibit, tigers being Zack's favorite animal of the moment. The tigers were less then inspired, lying utterly and completely immobile in the shade, except for a nervously twitching tail. We sat for almost twenty-five minutes, eating our sandwiches and chips, until, the highlight of the lunchhour occurred: one of them rolled over and slept on his back.

By this time Zack was getting frustrated,, as we trudged along checking out more dozing animals. Finally, by sheer accident, we wandered into the Lorikeet aviary. The aviary was filled with thick tropical plants and alive with a cacaphony of bird calls, but none were in sight. Zack was scowling now (a fearsome scowl) but I forced him to wait. The zookeeper had informed me that it was feeding time in five minutes.

We stood and watched as the zookeeper pulled out a plastic jug of yellow necter from a small fridge. The bushes behind us began to rustle and thrash lightly, excited bird calls indicating that they knew the routine. She filled a small cup and held it over her head. And after a moment, it began. First one brightly colored lorikeet burred past Zack's head, then another and another, until at least nine or ten birds were perched on the rail above the zookeepers head. The shifted back and forth anxiously until one, braver then the rest, fluttered over and perched ont he zookeepers' hand and began to drink the necter.

If you have never seen a lorikeet, you should. Pictures (such as this one or this one) don't do them or their phenomenal colors justice. They are feathered art. There is no better description.

I was watching Zack. The expression on his face was priceless - part rapt attention, part nervous anticipation, part wonder. I forked over two dollars for a small cup of the necter and Zack and I stood at the rail and tried to coax birds out of the bushes. After a few minutes, they began to arrive until there were a good dozen lorikeets perched on branches and people's hands, pushing and shoving (and arguing loudly about it) each other to slurp up the yellow liquid. I had six on my arm at one point, pushing and shoving like angy commuters late for their train. I passed the cup to Zack, which was followed by one very greedy lorikeet that padded its ambly walk down my arm (if you have ever seen one walk, you know the have this slightly rolly posture, like drunken sailors), onto the flat rail and over to perch on Zack's hand to guzzle.

He was thrilled. His face was lit up, unself-conscious, free and alive.

I hope we have many more lorikeet days.

Comments are always welcome. You can post them below. You can reach me at dadchronicles(at)hotmail.com.