POBRECITO
Tuesday, February 28th, 2006The other day I, along with my family, had to go to our parish, St. Timothy, for a planning meeting for an upcoming retreat that my wife and I will be working in. We brought along the kids because they were providing babysitting there at the parish. It just so happens that my youngest son fell asleep in the car on the way to the meeting. The kid was OUT. I mean, impossible to wake… gone. We went to where the babysitting was taking place and dropped off my older son (my daughter was at a friend’s house), and decided not to leave the little one there. We figured that there wasn’t a cpmfortable place for him to sleep there and that with the noise, if he would wake up he may wake up startled, or frightened and definitely confused and uncomfortable. We, therefore decided to take him to the meeting.
I walked into the meeting with kiddo on my shoulder, sleeping like a bear in hibernation. An atom bomb couldn’t wake this kid up (we had left the A-bomb next door, remember). It was the second that I walked in that it happened. Every mother there caught a glimpse of the adorable boy that I was bringing into the room. Immediately they had to come by and see this pudgy cheeked 3 1/2 year that is my son. That was all fine. It was their reaction that caught my attention. One after the other they would say hi to me, then look at my son and say, “pobrecito, he’s asleep, pobrecito”.
Now, for those who spanishedly (there I go inventing words again) challenged, “pobrecito” means “poor little thing”. I found this reaction curious, not because it was the first time I had heard it… this is a very common reaction to a sleeping child, in my experience… it is that every single mother there came up with the same response, “pobrecito”.
I really had to laugh when I finally got to Christi Tunon, IND’s own “Critter”, who is working the retreat with us, who upon seeing Marcos sleeping on my shoulder responded, you guessed it, “pobrecito!”
I had to start laughing. And I followed that by asking, “Why does everyone say pobrecito?” To which she replied, “I don’t know, I guess we just do.” At that very moment another mother/leader who had just walked in came over to say hi to Christi, my wife and me, and before she could say hello, the first word out of her mouth was, YEP, “pobrecito!”
AMAZING!
Now the most interesting thing about this to me is not that EVERYBODY and their mothers… well, the mothers themselves, anyway… called my son “pobrecito”, it is that I don’t understand why they are calling him that. It’s not like the kid is suffering. In fact, he was probably happy as a clam. For that matter, I’m actually jealous of the kid! I wish that I could fall asleep whenever I wanted and wherever I wanted without the pressure of knowing I’d be ridiculed, and also knowing that I would get picked up and moved around to wherever I was needed, with my final destination being my bed. What a hookup! That’s one heck of a gig. And it’s not like he was uncomfortable. He positioned himself as well as he could and was sleeping like a little angel in his daddy’s arms. What better place is there? You should have seen his face. Total contentment. I wished I was he! “Pobrecito” ni “pobrecito”… there was nothing “pobrecito” about him or his situation!
You didn’t hear people saying when they saw him asleep, “que lindo” (how cute), or “mira que dormidito esta” (look how asleep he is) or “que tranquilito esta!” (he’s so tranquil) or “el ya sabe contar hasta los cuarenta y siete?” (has he learned to count to 47 yet?). No, it was all “pobrecito”.
If anyone was “el pobrecito”, it was good old DAD. “What do you mean?” you ask. Well, I’ll tell you. The truth is that I was the one who was lugging around a 37 pound being around wherever I had to go. I was the one that because of how I had to position myself to maintain him in perfect comfort had a flat rear end and had one leg go completely numb due to an insufficient amount of blood enetring it. It was me who had to be careful of how loudly I spoke to not startle him unnecessarily (though it probably wouldn’t have mattered, he was so utterly in La-La Land). Heck, I was the one suffering. But NOOOOOOOO, poor little Marcos, he’s asleeEEEEeeep.
Well, in hopes that people will not refer to my son as “pobrecito” unnecessarily any more, I’ve come up with some alternatives. Here they are:
“Que cachetontolones!” (What great cheekicheekcheekies!)
“Tan guapo, como el Papa” (He’s so handsome, just like his dad)
“Ese nino esta para comerselo!” (That kid is so delicious, I just want to eat him… this one loses something in the translation)
“Que papa mas bueno, como quiere a su nino! Ojala todos padres fueran tan bueno como tu, modelo de modelos” (What a great dad, how he loves his son! If only all fathers were as good as you are, Oh model of model fathers)
All these are great alternatives to “pobrecito”. What’s this, you say that it had nothing to do with him being asleep? It had to do with.. huh? You feel sorry for him because he’s MY SON? How dare you… no you haven’t insulted me, I’ve got a sense of humor… HA HA! But, why couldn’t you tell me this before I STARTED writing this whole thing. “Pobrecito, me!”
Oh, of course, I know you’re joking, what kid wouldn’t want me as their father. That’s what I thought! Unfortunately, all those other kids are not so fortunate… “POBRECITOS!!!”
