Tickle Crab
To some, a hand. To others, a friend.
All of us at some point in our lives have acted clinically insane.
Screaming into pillows, staring at the sun, punching walls, walking into rooms and forgetting why you’re there, speaking in caveman-esque grunts that only your partner can understand. These are things we all do.
They are, in a word, nonsensical.
And it is this precise word that defines much of what parents do.
How do I know? Because every single parent has pretended a spoonful of smashed peas was an airplane and that is insane.
My own version of lunacy is similar to that example, albeit more complex. It started I do not know when and continues today. And it is the reason I woke up this morning with the boy talking to my hand.
More specifically, he was talking to Tickle Crab.
I don’t know that Tickle Crab needs much of an introduction. You can get the idea. Picture my hand scurrying across the ground and crawling across the boy’s stomach as it pokes and squeezes.
When I first said, “Oh no, look out for Tickle Crab,” I didn’t know I was creating an entirely new being. I had, in effect, detached an appendage from my body, given it a name (and a personality!), and handed it over to the boy to play with as a toy.
But to call Tickle Crab a toy is to demote his status in our lives. He is more of a friend and even, at times, a confidant.
The boy loves Tickle Crab. I know because I’ve heard him tell Tickle Crab just that. I’ve heard all of his conversations with Tickle Crab. In fact, I’m never more than three feet away whenever they’re speaking.
The boy always wants Tickle Crab to come get him. He sometimes thinks Tickle Crab is too rough (“no pinching!”). He says goodbye to him most mornings. He greets him most evenings and sometimes brings the Tickle Crab Babies (his own hands) to say hello. He shares food with him. He whispers to him. He holds him in his lap.
And yes, he really did crawl into our bed this morning, put his face on my hand and say, in the sing-songy voice of a child, “Good morningggg, Tickle Crab.”
That same day while I was in the shower, he came in and asked to speak to Tickle Crab, so I hung my hand above the shower door and they discussed the merits of cold pancakes.
I don’t know which is weirder, having an imaginary friend or having someone else’s hand as a real friend. They’re both odd but still within the bounds of “insane things we all do” so I’m not discouraging any of it in the slightest.
It is hilarious and bizarre and an encapsulation of everything we’re experiencing right now.
But maybe I should start to pull back. What if he never grows out of it? No. It’s harmless. It’s fun. But it’s weird if strangers see us. But they both love it.
Hold on.
Both?
Who is writing this?
Is it me?
Or has it been Tickle Crab all along?
Thanks for reading this far.
- jd (and tc)
And also…
You can’t beat a good pair of pants.
Things I plan to spend money on soon: a bowl to hold car keys, a trashcan, toilet paper holders, and warm lights to go under kitchen cabinets. This is luxury.
Dual moguls has been at the top of the list of Olympic sports worth watching (also insane). I would like to see dual figure skating next, please and thank you.
You can’t beat a good pair of house shoes.
(and tc) lol