Today, we went to a birthday party for a 5 year old. Normally, I prefer to stay at arms length for such events, as I am mortified that our lives will one day become little more than participants in a never ending series of children’s birthday parties. Actually, that is probably more of a rationalization as to why we don’t have any friends and never get invited anywhere.
Today, however, we made an exception. The birthday party was held in Piedmont and the real draw is that it included a tour of a fire station. Yes, you read that right, a real live fire station. To those of you without kids, or even worse, those of you who have girls, you may not fully comprehend the importance of a real fire station visit. Imagine an alcoholic visiting the Jack Daniel’s distillery or Michael Jackson visiting an elementary school; that is how excited Malcolm was to go to a fire station and talk to a real live firefighter.
I should maybe explain why Malcolm is so into firefighters. Actually, I have no idea. I really try to stay involved in Malcolm’s life, but I actually know very little about why he is the way he is. All I know is that the cabal that Malcolm runs with at pre-school are firefighters and, according to Malcolm, “Firefighters are Bad Guys!!!!” One hope that I had was that this trip to the firehouse would convince Malcolm that firefighters are indeed good people and not an excuse to terrorize opposing gangs with at school.
So we arrived at the park across the street from the firehouse and Malcolm played with the other kids (most of whom he’d never met before). Now, I am used to everyone around knowing exactly who Malcolm is. Usually, it is because I have repeated his name so many times that anyone within a 20 foot radius knows exactly who he is and what he has been up to. “Malcolm stop that. Malcolm put that down. Malcolm come here. Malcolm don’t hit. Malcolm, don’t push. Malcolm stop biting that kid!!!!!!” Today, however, everyone knew who Malcolm was because everyone was asking, “who is that kid?”
Malcolm evidently thought it was his birthday because he was everywhere doing everything. He attempted to reorganize the “pin the fire helmet on the fireman” game into, “line up your stickers to make a fire helmet train.” He got mad at the birthday boy when the birthday boy failed to locate a stuffed Dalmatian that was hidden away in the playground in a timely manner. He attempted to eat 3 sandwiches (especially troubling because not all the kids got a sandwich.) Then, when we actually got to the firehouse, Malcolm kept raising his hands and “asking questions.” 
His “questions” went like this: “I have a question. Firefighters save grammies and grampas.” Or, “I have a question. Firetrucks have to go back.” When this last “question” wasn’t immediately “answered,” he kept yelling, “I have a question!” (and wildly gesturing as if he was driving the fire truck) until the firemen giving the presentation acknowledged Malcolm’s wisdom. The thing I found most enjoyable is that he would preface each comment with “I have a question,” and then say something silly like, “I have a question. Firefighters go with the people and get the rangers.” After contemplating this last one for a while, I think there is a reference to a rival pre-school cabal, evidently one that involves rangers.
After the kids got to sit in the fire truck and then shoot water from the hose, the party headed back to the park for some cake and presents. The woman running the show was not the mother of the birthday boy, but a woman who offered to host the party at a school auction. You might think that someone who essentially sells herself as an emcee for 5 year old’s birthday party would enjoy kids. This older, lumbering woman made had a distant, tired look in her eyes and body language which screamed, “happy birthday, unhappy birthday, what do I care?” She eventually wrangled the kids together for a regurgitation of the birthday song and a dispassionate splitting up of the cake. She seemed to convey the same amount of interest in the happiness of the kids as a cattle rancher has in his stock.
While the kids were sitting around eating, a woman came up to us and asked if Malcolm was our son. We said yes, and she told us how sweet and cute he was, an observation then echoed by several other parents. I found this curious, since I found Malcolm somewhat embarrassing, but I guess we all have different concepts of what is cool. We left, mindful of the classes Malcolm needs in passive observation, buy hopeful that he is engage, spirited, and getting the hint that firefighters are not, indeed, bad guys.
Tags: Malcolm says funny things
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A few months back I noticed Jacqueline doing the "I have a question"/Statement thing. Now she just takes us down a never ending path of "why does..". I'm guessing you might have that to look forward to soon.
Malcolm is all set to join the WH Press Corps.