July 14, 2021
Today is Rockland’s last day of being five. He’s announced he does not wish to turn six.
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, because I don’t like the bathrooms in first grade. They’re bigger. And, they’re dirty,” he said.
When he was three, he didn’t want to become four because then he wouldn’t be the same age as Bryce Harper’s number. He’s reconciled that by telling me he still has Bryce’s jersey.
Today we went to the Delaware Art Museum. He insisted he wouldn’t like it and declared it would be boring. We parked the car and he told me he would remember where we parked when we left. We walked along the path of the outdoor sculpture garden on our way to the main entrance. He asked me the names of the sculptures as we passed. Circle of Lines; Three Rectangles Horizontal Jointed Gyratory III; Orifice II.
“What’s that one, Nonna?”
A bronze sculpture sat at the end of the group. I asked Rockland what he thought the name of this one was.
“I don’t know. Maybe Crying Guy?”
The name on the plaque was Crying Giant.
“How did you know that?”
“Well, because sometimes I put my hands on my head like that when I cry.”
We left the late-morning heat for the air-conditioned indoor museum. The woman at the desk greeted us kindly, took my money, and at my request, directed us to some of the highlights to be found in the building. The boy who said he would be bored ran ahead, looking at the paintings.
“Nonna, see that picture of the lady over there? That’s a self-portrait,” he said.
He continued along asking me the names of different pieces of work. He identified the painting of George Washington and a bust of Abraham Lincoln. He was unhappy when I told him we would take the stairs instead of the elevator. He said it wasn’t fair.
Upstairs we saw a life-sized steel horse sculpture named Riot. Within the body of that exhibit were the letters R, I, O, and T, which Rockland discovered before being told not to stand beneath the sculpture by a cranky security person.
I decided that outdoors would be safer, so after a visit to the restroom and another quick look at our favorite paintings, we went back out to the sculpture garden.
“Hey, Nonna, what’s that one over there?”
We walked over to get a closer look, past campers lined up having their snacks, and near a girl who was having hers alone. I made sure to stand near her as I told Rockland that this one was named Monumental Holistic VII.
“Monumental Holistic VII?”
“Yes. That’s quite a name, isn’t it.”
The little girl looked over her shoulder at the 168 x 96 x 108 inch structure in whose shadow she sat. The still-five-year-old moved on to a shady path calling me to follow along. We sat on a bench to rest before following signs to the The Labyrinth. Built on the site of a former reservoir was the biggest labyrinth I’d ever seen. We entered excitedly and a bit too loudly for the contemplative man walking its paths. He did not greet us.
“We need to speak quietly,” I told him. “Like you’re in church.”
He tried. He couldn’t. I didn’t care. He moved through the trails gracefully until he began to run and slid on the loose stones, hurting both his knee and the palm of one hand. He cried and told me he wanted to go home. Within three minutes he was back on the path. He reached the center before me, but told me he took a shortcut. I decided I would, too. When I spoke to him in the center, I heard my voice echo back to me, and thought how I’d love to come back here and do this again.
We left, explored some more of the grounds, and proceeded to the car, which he did, in fact, find with ease. Off to Sleeping Bird Coffee: me for a cappuccino and salad, he for a bagel with cream cheese and a hot cocoa. The library was next. I had a book on hold, and he chose two books on the solar system. I chose two others.
Back at my house he announced that he would be staying in his room all day tomorrow because he wanted to remain five. He conceded to coming out if everyone promised not to celebrate his birthday. I gave him his birthday penny and he ran for the special box on a shelf in the living room. In the box are the other pennies I have given him—one for each year of his life, and one for the day he was born.
2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, and 2021.
“Let’s count them all, Nonna!”
He told me he was excited about his party. He told me who was coming. He said I could come early if I wanted to. He said there would be a water slide and his friends would be in both the front and back of his house. If there was someone I wanted to talk to, he would go get her for me.
My daughter came to pick him up but not before we played soccer, watched videos, did some summer school work, played with a puzzle, and sat on the couch with Graycie the cat and Ivy the dog. He read a book to Ivy, preparing her for therapy visits where she will listen to students read. He made us a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
He hugged me before he left. I told him I loved him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nonna.”
Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.