The Toddlers' Playground

That January morning was moderately warm, and to everybody's surprise, it induced a miracle. January days are usually frigid and folks took advantage of the mild climate either by walking, jogging, biking, reading, or by any other relaxing activity. My daily routine was almost a ritual, most afternoons I took the two toddlers to Forest Park which is located in Richmond Hill, Queens, NY. This park is flanked by two busy roads: Park lane South and Myrtle Avenue. Forest Park is centennial and it's densely populated with wildlife and vegetation, and unlikely other parks in the New York City area, it's in a decaying state. It's also customary for newlyweds to take a stroll through the flowery garden beyond the Buddy Monument and have selfies, photos, and videos taken. It was built in remembrance of the fallen soldiers who served in World War I. The Buddy Monument depicts a young American soldier in mourning prayer with his head bowed contemplating his comrade's grave and his dire fate.

Even though the weather looked promising enough, I peaked through the glaring Venetian blinds and by then it was already late afternoon. I noticed the thick clouds getting dull and swollen ready to burst out and invade the park below with the coldest and whitest snowflakes of winter's most feared month. I felt a penetrating feeling of choking sadness as I stared at the darkening sky in absurd disappointment while the stubborn sun peaked and shimmered attempting to break through the reluctant clouds. I turned on the portable radio and the weather report was lousy, there was a possibility of a snowstorm was about to descend on the Victorian Richmond Hill, a suburb in the city of New York notorious for its elegant and grotesque homes with well-tended lawns spawned with pretty flowers and sheltered by tall pine trees. I thought to myself, " If those stormy clouds gave in, the kids would be miserable and so would I be, but a rush of curiosity flowed through my whimpering spirit, " It surely would be such spectacular scenery in this suburb town: snow glittering on rooftops and oak trees, " Oh poor children, and as mischievous as they are, they have to stay indoors. I dreaded at such thought, but I groped in resignation. Suddenly, another preoccupation rushed to my pounding brain as a leaping stallion and halted and sneered while someone crossed his path. I protested rebelliously at the menacing sky," The bored toddlers will nag me to the point of exasperation, and I couldn't imagine them missing their favorite playground. I felt so helpless...yes, I never let rage control me: I looked so overwhelmingly frustrated. I sat down and took the longest breath to decrease my rapid heartbeat. Finally, after the purplish sunset, the sweeping snow came with humongous snowflakes that were breath-taking: dancing, twirling, and floating; shouts of joy filled the warm and cozy house, we all rushed to the front door to witness the splendor of winter's greatest miracle!

Being a great uncle to them was a very thrilling experience for me, an unforgettable one indeed. In my opinion, uncles may never replace real fathers, even in the most imaginable ways, but the feeling is equally rewarding and satisfying. I became a foster parent in circumstances not very pleasant, and I would never regret it. My kindness to them had to be extended beyond the point of urgency and decision-making; beyond the heart-warming understanding of one of life's worst tragedies that occurred in my early forties. I vividly remember the police officer, an Irish man in his early fifties, asking me with a sensitive approach, " Would you take care of them?. " I sensed he had the intuition of a detective reading my inner thoughts. My response was, " I surely would, officer. " Then, his piercing blue eyes flashed a sympathetic smile.

Crystal was an energetic child with fine features and had a passion for children's books, and it suggested she had good qualities to be developed into teal talents and excel at them. Christopher was a playful child who acted very mature and had the distinctive capability of narration: explaining actual stories, or incidents with precise details. I was stunned, delirious, frantic, and speechlessly amazed...bursting into hard laughter! Anybody who had never seen these two adorable and smart kids couldn't take notice

When my niece dropped out of High School, and eventually became truant, I had to make the quickest decision: either keep her two children, or be placed in a foster home which was an idea contrary to my belief. It would have been unforgivably inhumane and cruel to let them experience the horrors of foster care if the great energy they displayed so spontaneously and gallantly. Their curiosity was keener than that of adults, more inquisitive than a scientist, even more insatiable than a historian; the behavior of a barking dog approaching strangers puzzled them; the swift take-off of pigeons feeding on scattered breadcrumbs excited them; the sheer beauty of a fluttering butterfly among the swaying oaks and suddenly land on a sunflower to seep nectar incited them enough to catch it, but to their surprise, the cautious butterfly was too astute and attentive not to be caught by capricious kids like them! They were screaming at me, " Uncle, uncle Andrew, please catch it for us...we like to play with it: I correct them by saying, " Butterflies are delicate insects useful to Nature and us: they aren't pets or toys! " And staring at them with a dissenting smirk, I scolded them with more harsh words, " If you don't hold them properly in your palms, there's a chance that you will damage their wings and they won't be able to fly anymore! After a while, they will die! " My answer seemed too complicated, but they finally understood it. It worked well with my example of easy explanation. They nodded and let her go from their palms and realized that butterflies loved their precious freedom!

Copyright ( c ) 2021 by Andrew Crisci