The "Peenano"

My father is not a distinguished piano player. He’s a good piano player, but we tease him that all of his songs sound the same. Hymns and praise songs alike sound as if they came out of the 60’s rock-n-roll era. If a song requires my father to sit still and play, he just can’t. He’s got to be be-boppin’ and foot stampin’ to enjoy playing.

So, it should come as no surprise, then, that our Gideon has taken quite a fancy to his child size “peenano.” We can hear him banging away with glee, singing his ABC’s, the B-I-B-L-E, Jesus Loves the Little Children, and Wheels on the Bus. He and Scarlett take turns playing. She daintily pecks away key by key, while he merrily pounds his little hands to the bone.

I’ve been sick for the past few days. I think I’ve had the flu, now turned into a terrible head cold (and no, it’s not the swine flu or H1N1 as they’re now referring to it as). I have not been actively involved with the children as I normally am…take today for example.

I was sitting on a pallet of blankets in the playroom holding Lexi, while Gideon and Scarlett entertained themselves. I tried reading them a few books, but my voice is going somewhat hoarse, my throat and ears hurt when I swallow, my nose is clogged up all the way to my brain, and therefore, reading books didn’t last too long. I shooed them over to more enticing toys.

As I was sitting there with Lexi wishing I were in bed, not really paying attention to the children, I come to my senses and hear Gideon banging away on the piano. He finishes his song, expects me to clap, and I do. We continue in that vein for a few minutes. Apparently, his music is not elegant enough for Lexi, for she begins to squall as if in pain. Meanwhile, Scarlett is happily dancing about as if there were some type of real rhythm to his keystroke mechanics.

I turn my attention back to Gideon. He’s really going at it. His face is beat red, and there’s a vein popping out of his neck. I’m half afraid he’s going to burst a blood vessel with all that straining, but I let him have his fun. As I’m thinking these thoughts, he stops mid “song”, lifts up his leg, and grabs his rear end.

“Uh oh,” he says, looking at me. “My poo poo.”

Apparently, all that straining did burst something. But, it wasn’t a blood vessel.