By: John Saccenti
Including myself, there are two people in my home with blue eyes. We both tend to babble and the ratio of food in stomach to food on shirt during meals is equally bad for both of us.
My daughter is just 7 months old. She’s tiny now, not quite as long as my arm, but she barely fits into most of her outfits.
And when she catches me doing something silly, like dancing to some song I’ve made up on the spot, she flashes me one of her quizzical looks, as if to say “What the heck are you doing?” She has a lot of those looks, the kind that make me think she’s much older than she really is.
In her own baby-like way she is wise. She seems to know what she wants and usually wants it right away, even though her mother and I have some trouble translating the noises coming from her mouth.
But just because she knows what she wants and is baby-wise doesn’t mean she’ll know what to get me for Father’s Day, which strikes Sunday.
Yes, selecting that perfect Father’s Day gift will be tough. She’ll probably have to take a few bucks from my wallet just to finance the gift. Then she’ll ask me for a ride to the mall, if she even knows what a mall is.
To be honest, I’m not the easiest guy in the world to shop for. The list of gifts suitable for me, the man who has it all, is short. I don’t enjoy ties. I also don’t golf, which kind of rules out tie tacks and paper weights.
What’s more, she’s known me for little more than half a year, but probably doesn’t have the slightest idea of what my hobbies are, or what books I might enjoy, or what CDs I might listen to.
What’s an infant in need of a gift to do?
But I’m being selfish. To expect anything more than what she’s capable of giving is unfair.
She could get me something cheap, like some candy.
Or, I suppose, she could sleep through the night for a week straight, or go to bed early. That would be a nice treat.
Maybe she could hold off on dirtying her diaper for an extra hour in the morning? Not bad.
Maybe she could mix her own bottles — three a day for day care.
Still, even that might be pushing it. Maybe I should give her a few hints.
I like to watch her roll around like a monkey — grabbing her feet and talking to herself while chewing on a toy. She could do more of that.
I like the way she looks at me when I walk into a room. She recognizes me instantly and usually greets me with both arms and legs waving. A dose of that would be nice.
She could sit on my lap, cooing while she tries to figure out why chewing on toys feels so good.
Or, maybe she’ll let me see little bits of her mother and myself in her as she grows older.
Yes, any of the above would be just fine. That and a lot more growing and chewing and babbling.
John Saccenti is news editor of The Cranbury Press.
