Doof Malloy, our oldest son, is adopted. (I will probably call him "Doof Malloy" in this blog for two reasons. One, that's one of his nicknames. Two, he's got a pretty unique name given to him by his birth mom and if she were ever to find this blog and decide that she needs to have him back, I don't want to make it any easier for her to identify him that it would already be. (He's the black kid who acts like a wild animal and lives with the crazy white people in the very un-diverse small town.) And besides, he's MINE, bitch! Get to steppin'!
Fortunately for him, he was adopted by people who are just as untame as his biological folks obviously were. He fits right in here with us and our menagerie of pets. He growls at people he has just met. He runs on all fours like a leopard chasing a gazelle. (I would say, "like a gorilla". but I am trying not to be inflammatory in any way. (Side note: I NEVER knew that "monkey"was a derogatory word used to marginalize black people. Did you guys know that? When I met Doof, one of my friends would swing him around in his blanket and call it a "monkey swing" and boy, oh, boy! When a black lady overheard that that shit hit the fan.) One of the things I love most about this boy is that he is ridiculously creative. He operates on a level different from almost any other kid I have ever met. To us, he is a bit strange at times, but in an endearing and clever way.
When we first adopted Doof, we were busy working and I was also pursuing a Masters degree so we were rarely home. Doof was in preschool and went to pre-K at the same center and we didn't know any of our neighbors for more than two years. We were just never here. Actually, as I am remembering it, I recall a really typical Doof moment. Okay, let me set the stage here. It's a nice spring day. We have all of the windows open to let in the fresh air. Music is playing throughout the house. We're doing some cleaning. I notice when I look out the window in Doof's room that the little girls across the street playing outside in their driveway. We don't know them, but we see them outside sometimes. They're cute. So I send Doof to his room to put away some of the toys I had found throughout the house and I go about my business. After about ten minutes, I haven't seen Doof, so I go to check on him. He's only four. He might be doing something dangerous. I walk around the corner into his room and guess what I see? (Actually, don't guess. You don't stand a chance of guessing this.) There is my precious Doof with his bare asscheeks wiggling in the window. My son is MOONING the little girls across the street. Given ten minutes to himself, he actually took off his pants and underwear and mooned the girls across the street in broad daylight with the window open. Shocking behavior.
Back to the purpose of this post.
So, when Doof first came to live with us, he would say strange made-up words consistently to describe things. In the bathtub, he would sit Indian Style (I capitalized this out of respect to our Native Americans.) and call the water in the little circle inside his legs a "souk". In context: "Mom, look at all these toys in the souk!" or as he is pouring water into the circle, "Mom, there's a waterfall in the souk!" or when you pull the drain, "NO! MOM! MY SOUK!!!" Another favorite word was "chuff". He would use it like a curse word. If he dropped something, if he lost something, if he broke something...just "chuff". My husband and I still like to use that word. It's a good one. Doof is also famous for making up new superheroes. Teddycow Light Chopper is just a stuffed animal, but it's worth mentioning because it's a funny name. Lightman is actually a storm trooper figurine but he has different powers now. There are more...but I don't care that much because I am a girl.
When I finished my Masters program and started working and then got fired for asking to be paid (that'll be a good future post), I was home a lot more and I got to meet the folks across the street. They're wonderful people and very open-minded and they love us a lot and we love them a lot. In fact, the youngest daughter in that family is Doof's best friend. Her name is...hmmm...let's call her
Trouble Smarty Sasspants. She is the only other child I have met who really speaks Doof's language. Smarty is the female version of Doof, but maybe even a little bit more...comic strip character-ish. She is the perfect mix of boy and girl. I don't know how to describe her in a better way that that. Anyway, these two kids have a lot in common, including their weird language thing. They both have these crazy vivid imaginations and their minds meld together in a perfect storm of made-up words, superheroes, safari adventures, and wild west shootouts. It's a ....um... special kind of friendship. Like two amputees in a sack race. Now why in the world would that analogy pop into my head?
It's worked out very well having Smarty and her family right across the street. They have formed such a wonderfully strange friendship and I hope Doof will have Smarty in his life for years and years to come. This is partly selfish on my part because I think of her as a daughter after all this time and partly because I know how important it has been in my life to feel understood. It's rare that you find someone who understands you and accepts you...someone who speaks your language. Smarty fills that need for Doof and I like to watch it. Recently I have been worried about Doof for some not-so-fun reasons. For now I find great comfort that Smarty has probably mooned Doof from her bedroom window, too.
