My son frequently shouts "a cycle!".
He then looks at me with expectation of further discussion. At which point I must decide which cycle is in question and quickly, as my son seems to have inherited my nearly complete lack of patience.
If we are outside or standing by the window, he is likely referring to a bicycle or a motorcycle. I learned to pick out motorcycle roar out of all the noises of a busy street we live on. We never taught Saleem to say "brrrrlrrrlrrrrmrrr" with spit flying everywhere and appropriate gestures showing the maneuvers of a motorcycle. And yet he knows exactly how to do so! An appropriate response from my side is "brrrlrllmrrmmvmmrrr", perhaps with less spit, but also with sincere gestures.
If I hear no engines roaring, I assume, it is a bicycle. I then must locate the bicycle, identify its color, talk about whom it must belong to, and assure my son that soon he too will have a bicycle of his own. Just as soon as he is big enough. He nods.
But sometimes, "a cycle" is not at all about things on wheels. Saleem may be talking about recycling. As a half tree-hugging-daisy-eater, half computer engineer, the little man is very particular about recycling. He angrily pulls out boxes his father did not break down, and neatly folds them. He give daddy a somewhat condescending look from under his eyebrow, while smoothing the creases. Sometimes, he becomes upset with item he finds in the recycling bin. That's when "a cycle?" is more of a question, than a statement, and it means we are about to get into a debate of whether a juice bottle should be recycled, or opened and played with. "A juice!" he shouts, pointing to the bottle. "Yes, dear, it used to have juice in it, but now it is all gone. And we have to recycle the bottle. " "A cycle," he says sadly in disbelief. "Yes, a cycle."
He then looks at me with expectation of further discussion. At which point I must decide which cycle is in question and quickly, as my son seems to have inherited my nearly complete lack of patience.
If we are outside or standing by the window, he is likely referring to a bicycle or a motorcycle. I learned to pick out motorcycle roar out of all the noises of a busy street we live on. We never taught Saleem to say "brrrrlrrrlrrrrmrrr" with spit flying everywhere and appropriate gestures showing the maneuvers of a motorcycle. And yet he knows exactly how to do so! An appropriate response from my side is "brrrlrllmrrmmvmmrrr", perhaps with less spit, but also with sincere gestures.
If I hear no engines roaring, I assume, it is a bicycle. I then must locate the bicycle, identify its color, talk about whom it must belong to, and assure my son that soon he too will have a bicycle of his own. Just as soon as he is big enough. He nods.
But sometimes, "a cycle" is not at all about things on wheels. Saleem may be talking about recycling. As a half tree-hugging-daisy-eater, half computer engineer, the little man is very particular about recycling. He angrily pulls out boxes his father did not break down, and neatly folds them. He give daddy a somewhat condescending look from under his eyebrow, while smoothing the creases. Sometimes, he becomes upset with item he finds in the recycling bin. That's when "a cycle?" is more of a question, than a statement, and it means we are about to get into a debate of whether a juice bottle should be recycled, or opened and played with. "A juice!" he shouts, pointing to the bottle. "Yes, dear, it used to have juice in it, but now it is all gone. And we have to recycle the bottle. " "A cycle," he says sadly in disbelief. "Yes, a cycle."
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