"Papa's Going to Fall Down"

I know that for some parents, the Olympics served as a great opportunity to educate their children on the importance of dreams and aspirations, the making of history, the rules of sports and the pride of nationalism. I heard stories of parents who kept their kids up late at night so they could watch history unfold, and I can only imagine the quiet swelling of emotion they must have felt, knowing that they were about to share a moment with their child that would be remembered and talked about for years to come.

Rob and I enjoyed watching the Olympics. We didn’t go to great lengths to explain the various events to Toby, but he would sometimes sit and watch with us and catch onto our slogans, his favourite being “HARD! Hurry, HARD!” It wasn’t until this week, in fact, that I began to catch on to just how much of it he actually caught onto…and what a warped perception of everything he had inadvertently developed.

It all started with his sudden desire to “snowboard”. Part of his bedtime routine is to jump on the bed. It’s not the most calming of activities, but I would venture to say it’s his favourite part of the day; so who are we to deprive him of it? The other night while he was jumping on the bed he announced that he was going to snowboard. I sat back and watched. Turns out that snowboarding, in Toby’s mind, involves standing on a huge stack of pillows, putting your arms out to the sides and then falling face first into the bed.

Need I elaborate on Toby’s impression of skiing? It’s pretty similar, except he usually throws one leg in the air before his harrowing descent.

None of this is as problem, this skewed perception of the two sports, but perhaps a reflection of how well most of the athletes performed in them? Or, maybe Toby’s favourite part was watching them fall down. Who knows? The whole thing was kind of comical….until Rob’s parents arrived last night to go skiing.

As soon as I heard them telling the inquisitive Toby that they were going to go skiing, Toby matter of factly told them both that they were going to fall down. I tried to explain to him (after they had left the room) that telling people that they were going to fall down was not nice. But he was insistent, “Papa is going skiing. Papa is going to fall down” he repeated, nodding his head in agreement with himself.

Finally, as I heard them coming back up the stairs, I decided to try a different tactic.

“Toby,” I said hurriedly, “Why don’t you say to Grandma and Grandpa that you hope that they DON’T fall down….say, ‘I hope you DON’T fall down skiing, Papa’”

Toby looked at me like I was an idiot, but managed to comply.

“Don’t fall down skiing, Papa! Don’t fall down skiing, Gaga!” he said as he kissed and then waved them goodbye at the door.

We watched them get their gear into the car and drive off and Toby waited patiently at the window for their car to disappear around the bend before very decisively whispering to no one in particular,

“Papa’s going skiing. Papa’s going to fall down.”