Fun at the library

It is difficult to believe that more than a year has passed since that day. The memory of the emotional havoc it caused is still vivid. I am talking about the visit a year ago by the then 2-year old little terror, also known as “the golden-curled prince,” and his mother to the local library.

I first became aware of the disastrous outing when my work at my home office was interrupted by a loud voice that I recognized as my wife’s. Since my wife rarely raises her voice in matters not directed at me, this was decidedly odd. Her stern instructions to “Go to your room,” were followed by the sound of a door shutting and enraged screaming that I recognized to be the voice of the little prince. As my wife strode past the office door, I made the mistake of inquiring as to the cause of the commotion. Thus began her sad tale, which ended in a cascade of tears—hers.

It all started innocently enough that day, to pick out some books for the two littlest tokens. Then the real fun began as the two-year-old turned the library into a chamber of emotional horrors. To start, while Mom was looking for a title on the library computer, her son turned off the companion computer, necessitating the intervention of a librarian to restart it. Like a skilled military leader having created a tactical diversion, he proceeded to the main task: Pull several dozen books off the shelves. Faster than Mom could put them back.

With that skirmish eventually concluded and order superficially restored, Mom focused on finding some books for the then seven-year old blonde princess, when her concentration was interrupted by a crash. Looking about, Mom saw a toppled CD-stand with its contents splayed across the floor and a certain tow-headed boy nearby.

After that excitement, matters seemed to calm down. But it was a false calm, as the little terror had run to the giant fishtank in the library and was turning the lights on and off. When apprehended, he celebrated the event by running through the library while screaming at the top of his voice. He likely didn’t notice, and even more likely didn’t care, about the startled looks from the rest of the children, who were peacefully using the library for its intended purpose. Same about the icy glares from the bespectacled librarians.

Finally, with the book search completed, it was time for the check-out. But standing in line is so b-o-r-i-n-g. It’s much more fun for a young lad to dash out the library toward the street, Mom frantically behind yelling and yanking him back out of potential danger. Only to be taunted with cries of “child abuse” by a couple of wet-behind-the-ears pre-adolescent bicycle riders passing by.

As said, a year has passed. How fast they grow up. Hoping that retirement or memory loss on the part of the library personnel would facilitate the matter, Mom decided that the time had come to risk another trip to the library with the little terror. An encouraging omen was that no one pointed at a “Wanted” poster and stopped them from entering, and, aside from some screaming and dashing about, everything was relatively civilized. With such hopeful development, maybe we can start taking him to the library more often. And next time even do it without having the family wear Groucho Marx disguises.