“Golden Arches”

by Aunt Amy on 4.17.11 

            “You’re a sweet boy,” Grandma, happy to have one-on-one time with her very verbal grandson (while the rest of his family was out) so she could place full attention on playing with him, cooed.

            The toddler’s fleeting attention span soon diverted him in all sorts of directions.

            “Knuckles,” Grandpa said the Sunday before Easter, as he walked by him and Grandma, and the two knocked fisted hands.

            The observant and delightful little brown-haired boy found his way to my lap. Dressed in a long-sleeve grey t-shirt with NIKE in orange at the bottom and navy warm-ups with two orange stripes around a white stripe on the sides, my little nephew sat with me at the computer. At these times the polite 2-year-old (usually the first of his brothers to say “Thank You” when kind and artistic Grandma gives Gummy Bear candy to the boys) expects me to pull up his favorite thing in the world to watch on screen: tractor videos.

            “Is that a house?” … “Is that a car?” … “Is that a butterfly?” the youngster asked these questions he already knew the answers to, correctly naming sights he saw before a tractor video popped on the screen.

His brown eyes never left the screen because missing a moment of tractors is unthinkable. Music played in the background while we watched one of several tractor videos that are stored in my “Favorites” section online to allow for quick retrieval. Lots of different shapes and sizes of the machines are shown in yellow dusty fields and in front of clusters of green leafy trees.

            His comments as he watched videos April 17th included the lines “Look at that tractor over there” and “Tractor, tractor Amy, that’s a orange tractor” which was soon followed with “That’s a gween tractor.”

            Before he deserted Grandma to watch tractor videos with his aunt, this happened:

“That’s good marketing,” the little one’s much-loved Grandma told me, referring to a painting of a large yellow flower she outlined on a tablecloth reserved for such activities.

Her grandson’s interpretation when prompted to label the painting reinforced Grandma’s statement about the fast food chain’s lucrative ploys of making themselves known. Their extreme and ubiquitous advertising (with a “why-not-start-them-early-because-they’re-a-possible-future-consumer-?” attitude) even trickled down to an innocent, courteous and tractor-loving toddler.

He took one look at the image on the tablecloth and blurted:

”That’s McDonald’s.”

THE END

Laughing Little Guy on a Different Day

Laughing Little Guy on a Different Day

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