Patrick's a Little Man of Few Words

As somebody who is absolutely LOUSY at metaphors and similes, I wish I could come up with one or the other for Patrick.
An original one, I mean. Not something like being the calm in a storm (or even BEFORE the storm), or the yin to the yang or, perhaps, a square peg for a round hole.
I suspect that the meaning of that paragraph is as muddy as my most mixed metaphors, so I'll start over.
If the boys' last name were Marx, Patrick Michael would be Harpo, known as the silent one.
And THAT's what keeps giving me a double take when I'm around Patrick.
At a tad over a year, the lad can speak but a few mumbled muffles that may not be words at all but rather, family members' imaginations. Oh, he laughs and giggles and makes guttural sounds, and he probably is saying mum-mum-mum and dada, after a fashion.
But usually, he just watches things and activities — for some reason, he watches me with the studied .007 golden eye of a secret agent assessing a suspect — although he's starting to join the boys' dogpiles on Dad.
The reason I need a metaphor for him, why he seems like he’s following a different drummer, is that he's growing up in a cacophony of chaos, a din of drummers. He’s the sounds of silence among the various renditions of songs entitled “SHOUT.”
I suppose the Isley Brothers kicked it off the shouts in 1959, when grandad was a wee lad:


I’ve been favoring Tears for Fears rendition of late (call me “groovy,” but I think some songs of the ’80s easily rivaled music’s breakout period of the ’60s):



And, lest we forget, The Beatles added a TWIST to the shout:



And that’s what Patrick’s brothers — Vincent at 8, Jack at damnear 6, and Luke at 3 — do much of the time twist and shout, and, to invoke Tears for fears, “let it all out.”
I swear, those lads are so noisy when they get to playin’ that I can’t hear myself think — and they can’t hear ME pleading with them to turn down their volume. Indeed, trying to talk to Melissa on the phone when they’re playing in the background is as impossible as scoring a hole-in-one on a 600-yard par 5 on a windy, rainy day.
At this point, Patrick is mostly a relatively quiet observer as the world goes by. Some days, it throws me off that he’s so quiet because the others can be so dadgum loud. I keep expecting noise to issue forth, but it’s mostly toned-down utterances wafting forth on the winds of baby’s breath.
Happily for all concerned (perhaps), Patrick won't be as tongue-tied as Harpo Marx. (And, truth be told, Harpo could speak; he just usually didn't for a couple of reasons, including the fact that it was a great schtick to get attention, according to the family biography at http://www.marx-brothers.org/biography/marxes.htm.)
OR, for all I know, he’s just a proverbial genius, as per Proverbs 10:19: He who holds his tongue is wise. (I wonder whether a politically correct Bible might say, “He or SHE who hold his or HER tongue is wise.” Probably just “People who hold their tongues are wise.)
On the other hand, things could get so noisy once Patrick quits holding his tongue that we'd wish we could put the toothpaste back in that tube, that the train hadn't left the station, that we could turn back time, etc.
Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.
Soooooooo, my keyboard will fall silent now, as I show a few pix of the lad and his fans:
With his godparents, my son, Brendan, and his wife, Erica, on his christening day:



In a more casual setting, with Brendan and Erica, at his brudders' soccer fields:


With mom, Melissa, on christening day:

Sometimes, everybody's got to get their mugs in a pic, such as the four boys' dad, Skip, Brendan, Erica (you can't even tell she's preggers, can you?), and Melissa, holding Patrick, whose eyes are wide shut, with the strangely silent crew in front, Vincent, Luke and Jack:
The boys just HAVE to clown around when their parents aren't in the pic:
Don't you just hate it when grandparents overdo the photos? Oh, well, one more:

Oh, WAIT, that’s not Patrick. That’s just me, hangin’ with Ernest Borgnine at the Emmys, when my daughter Annie was nominated for editing "Top Chef." How’d THAT get in this column? Can't figure out how to delete it.

In closing, as long as I’ve brought up the varied resurrections of songs with “Shout,” I present one of my favorites and no, I don’t mean its performance on “American Idol” in April 2008. To my mind, nobody does it better than Darlene Zschech:

Amelia Makes an, Uh, Shall We Say, Interesting First Impression

Some days, as the saying goes, you’re the windshield, and other days, you’re the bug.
Some days, you’re Miss Muffet, sitting on your tuffet; other days, you’re the tuffet, sat upon.
Some days, you feel put upon, and others, you get shat upon.
And NOW, the back story:
If Thomas the Tank Engine is around when my youngest grandchild, Amelia, is of the age to appreciate the series, I’m sure she’ll see the ninth episode of the fifth season of the wildly popular series. (It will be interesting to see whether she likes the series as much as her ultra-macho cousins do.)
The episode’s title is “Put Upon Percy,” and it recounts the misery of the little engine one day when he felt put upon.
All the other little engines teased him, taunting, “Percy's been put upon, put upon, put upon, put upon, Percy's been put upon. Poor old Percy — tee hee hee hee hee!"




They just can’t let up, as they continue the torment with this phrase: "Percy has been put upon. I am, I am, I am!"
Of course, the repetition of “I am” brings to mind Dr. Seuss’ “Green Eggs and Ham.” Well, it does for me, anyway, and this is my blog, it am.
And that, of course, brings me to the day Amelia used me like Miss Muffet’s tuffet, and sat upon me. Of course, I was thrilled, because it was my first visit with my first granddaughter. Until she decided to give me a REAL welcome, and shat upon me as well (looked a little like yellow curds and whey, by the way).
Of course, that reminds me of Dr. Seuss again, his famed “Cat in the Hat.” If you can’t keep track of my train of thought, that’s your tough luck. You must feel as put upon as poor Percy.
But that’s better than being shat upon. I know she doesn’t know anybody, and that’s what babies do, after all. But it was a brand-new T-shirt, and it looked as if I’d sprayed myself with mustard.
There was a cat in the house, but she could not have done her deed where the cat shat; indeed, she couldn’t have left her deposit in a hat.
At this point, I’ll just apologize to the spirit of Dr. Seuss, and offer this reflection:

The diaper did not hold,
It was too weak for the load.
So it squirted out
When the breast milk hit the road.

I stood there with Amelia.
We stood there, we two.
And I said to my daughter:
Annie, she just went doo-doo.

Too surprised to react
And reluctant to change a mess.
So I stood their stupidly,
’Til Annie grabbed the little lass.

Since all she had done was
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
Annie changed her diaper,
And she didn’t like it one bit.

I could go on. And on. And on,
But you wouldn’t like that.
Besides, I can’t beat the rhyme
And pentameter of the Cat in the Hat.

I would just cause you to groan
So this Grinch will go on the lam.
So you don’t wretch something
That looks like green eggs and ham.

Others have been creative with the concept, as well:



Other than being put upon that once, I had a great visit with Amelia and her parents. She charmed the sox off of this silver fox, although I should note that she can screech like a banshee on occasion.
We went to the zoo while I was there, but I’m grateful that we didn’t go to the beach. I HATE to get sand twixt my toes and in various other crevasses we’ll leave unmentioned.

It appears she shares my sentiments:


But she's a starlet in my skies with those shades on her eyes.


In closing, I’ll prevail upon Dr. Seuss just one more time with some final quotes from one of his 44 children’s books to welcome Amelia into the world:

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away! . . .

OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights. . . .

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.