The Boss of me...

About a month or so ago, a Saturday, as Laure and I sat on our rear balcony – we currently live in a fourth floor apartment (third floor, if you follow the French way of counting them) in Building D of a seven-building complex (the others are A thru G, naturally) - overlooking a nicely planted grassy area behind the buildings in the Ivandry Section of Antananarivo; the houses beyond; and a little community park full of flowers, are also built and owned by the “Management.” Nannies and a few complex guards oversaw children (Malagasy and European) playing, and generally enjoying themselves. It is all on a slight incline; and one little girl, probably five or six, proceeded to roll slowly down the incline, pick herself up, walk back to where she started, and then complete the trick again, and again; occasionally mixing in body flips to change the pace. As we watched, somehow, it took us both back to the raising of children like that little girl; and the relatively recent days in Stafford, Virginia – before the Spotsylvania move. Then, I would sit on the front stoop of a townhouse reading a book or my paper, as all the neighbor kids played in our cul-de-sac. Laure and I remembered the days when a small girl or boy about this little girl’s age would march up to the stoop, and ask me if I would be “the boss of him/her”. By saying “yes,” I informally contracted with a three to five-year old kid – and, inferentially – with a local mother, that for the length of time that I and the child were outside our respective houses, I would protect her/him from strangers, animals on the loose, and assorted other demons and goblins. Their part of the bargain was an agreement only to come to me with serious issues, such as whose ball it was; the ball, toy, etc. was lost “forever,” or some injury, requiring a washcloth, antiseptic, a band-aid, and my best Dr. Marcus Welby manner. Generally, I believe the neighbors agreed that “Mr. Barney” handled that job pretty well; and that “Ms. Laura” (Americans have a hard time with “Laure”) provided the best, if somewhat exotic, snacks in the neighborhood as well.

Where did the “Boss of me” come from? I’m not sure. The first reference I have goes back to 1975, driving through Washington’s late evening streets, heading south towards the DC/Virginia Arlington bridges, with the White House a distant view further down 16th Street; and having my then 5-year old daughter in the back of the car ask us if I would take her to visit the “Boss of the Flag.” We thought it would be a good idea, but that he might be sleeping, since it was dark. At age five, this was our daughter who, like her mother at the time, was really just getting used to full-time English. Still, in all, it was appropriate as far as she was concerned. Though it didn’t matter who was sleeping in the white house up ahead; she had learned enough to know that he was responsible for the country we were in, and the flag which represented it. Thereafter, I do not recall using the term until 2001, when we moved to Stafford; Laure having decided that a somewhat older daughter, her husband, and growing family would probably not survive without a steady diet of Asian chicken soup, and at least one grandmother to make certain that everyone ate it in times of medical crisis. Notwithstanding the exchange of a fifteen minute commute for an hour commute, I “immediately” agreed (believe that, and I’ll sell you a bridge in Brooklyn) to her turn-our-world-upside-down proposal. We sold the Falls Church condo; and moved into a three-storey townhouse across a small pond from Isabelle and her brood. While moving against my will, I have to admit that the move opened a door which needed opening. Almost ten years later, I find myself wondering how I could have been opposed to becoming a “real” grandfather; and – of course – a “boss” of children in general as well. Let’s face it. Some people luck out in spite of themselves. Otherwise, of all the titles I have picked up over the years, I take pride in that moment when I was first offered the title, “Boss of Me.”