Curious George. Because he was so smart and needed to understand everything. It just seemed, somehow, his brain got ahead of his heart, his father always said.
He’ll grow out of it, I would say. He will. You’ll see. Just wait.
Until he left.
One day he just said he couldn’t handle this anymore and I never saw him again.
Once, when he was six, I had him in the bath. It was just me then, and the two kids. Todd was just two. He had a laugh, my Todd; that boy’s giggle could leave the whole family in tears.
His brother was in a good stage at that time. I grew to trust him more. Things had changed in the two years since Todd was born. I was always busy with him, feeding, changing diapers. Tickling him under his chin, trying to produce that giggle. And I had work.
His older brother suddenly had to work to get everyone’s attention. The tantrums grew louder and more frequent. He was always stealing things; then somehow they would miraculously reappear. He always looked to be the hero.
I remember he was supposed to watch over Todd that day. “C’mon, Toddie,” I recall him saying, “c’mon in here with me ’till Mommy gives you your bath.”
I ran after some laundry that needed folding and he brought in one of Todd’s favorite toys. And I heard the two of them playing in the tub. That infectious giggle.
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