Smooth Operator

On my way into work this morning, I was listening to my iPod and playing Solitaire on it. I was sitting on the end of a row of three seats, and a mother and young boy were on a two-seater next to mine, sort of like an L-shape. Here, let me assist you with high-tech illustrations:

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B
oM——

LEGEND:
B = boy
o = corner
M = Marla Leslie Garfield, 5'3", brown curly hair, likes long walks on the beach and drive-ins

About two stops into the commute, the kid jumped down from his seat, stuck his face in mine, and said, "Hi!" He was adorable: big brown eyes, long lashes, not annoying-precocious. I said hi, and he immediately started watching my game, pointing to the cards. He's four years old, so I tried to explain in as age-appropriate terms as possible how to play Solitaire: "See? Red then black then red then black. And see the numbers? What comes after six?" That kind of thing. Truth be told, I worry I have no idea how to talk to children; I always feel like I'm missing something, some sense of creativity they need for things to make sense. Babies I can do, children older than 18 months not so much.

As he got more into what was happening on the screen, he grasped my iPod, not trying to take it away but just holding on to it with me so he could concentrate and feel engaged. I was asking him what the numbers and shapes were, but I couldn't really hear his responses over the music and I couldn't turn down the volume because he'd taken control of the panel, so I slipped off my headphones. (And of course, to the surprise of no one, the mom just sat there reading her book. Didn't even ask me if this was OK, her child playing with my expensive piece of technology. Or that he was basically sitting on my lap. She wasn't as indefensible as WPE, probably because the situation wasn't as extreme, but I was just frustrated for him that she didn't show even remote interest in her son's interaction with a total stranger. How would she have handled it if I'd been less friendly and less amenable to her four-year-old futzing with my iPod? I understand she clearly liked having the relief of reading her book and someone else watching her child, but, um, you know what, it's not even worth it.)

So then he started pushing the buttons and spinning the wheel. I was wishing and hoping and thinking and praying he wouldn't break my iPod, but it was OK as long as I had my hands on it. Any time he got too erratic with it, I'd just slow down his fingers and show him how to be careful. (At this point, the mom was fixing her makeup.) I figured it would be good to practice the alphabet, so I clicked on the Artists section and he cruised up and down the list while I asked him what letter we were on (pointing to Janet Jackson: "J!" "What comes after J?" [pointing to The Kinks] "K!"). Sometimes he'd stop on inappropriate artists — I didn't want to have to explain "I Touch Myself" to him — and he seemed to have an affinity for Bone Thugs-N-Harmony (which was when I wondered why the hell I have Bone Thugs-N-Harmony on my iPod), but by the time he got off the train, he was playing Sade, so all was cool. DJ Fierce Commute, whuttup.

As they were leaving, the mom did thank me and told me she liked my green costume ring. And as the train was pulling away, I looked up out the window, just zoning out, and the boy had stopped on his way up the station stairs, stuck his head through the railings, and waved furiously at me. Awesome.

I confess I'm not at ease around kids of a certain age — I'm more comfortable with a hormonal 16-year-old than an energetic 6-year-old — so I was proud of myself that I didn't want to tune out this boy or flee the scene. And the whole scene more than made up for the fact that, as my woozy self got ready for work not an hour before, I came thisclose to putting deodorant on my lips. Apparently, I cannot raise my hand, for I am unsure.