Beetle and Yogi

I don’t know how the writers of Yogi Bear could have done it but they came up with an episode that has my grandson in it 60 years before he was born. His name is Cade, but I call him Beetle. When I set him down his little legs just take off. He’s like the toy with the spring wound all the way — always. He goes off in every direction never first looking in any. At 16 months he’s tiny and doesn’t really talk yet. He’s into some sort of discovery phase — mostly discovering how many times and ways he can bang his head on things in two minutes. All we need is a drummer at the ready to play the two-second drum roll as the kid picks up speed, followed by the cymbal crash and then the quick riff on the wood block for when the kid clears the ringing from his ears. Cade does this about every two seconds and it’s never longer than 10 before he’s into something else. I can’t turn my back and can never sit down. I’m sure the makers of the park playground equipment felt they’ve made great advancements on the safety features of their slides, rock-climb boards and monkey bars. But this kid not only climbs on everything he shouldn't, he crawls under where the steel cross beams are just above eye level and where I can’t reach. There’s nothing to do but wait a few secs until hearing the sound of head and steel and a wail. Always coming out with this look of astonishment, even after the fourth or fifth time. Let’s just say it’s a slow discovery phase.

What I do first at the park is find the deserted soccer field area and carry him to the end farthest away from the playground equipment. Then I set him down. His beetle feet just take off and the chase is on back toward the playground. He squeals with delight as I chase him, snatching him just as he nears the dark and irresistable land of cracked skulls and carry him back. We do this a few times and then I put him in the tyke swing so I can take a break. I face him as I push the swing. I stick my belly out and he giggles as his little feet make contact, pretending to kick. Except then he does it for real. He really laughs then. And he wants to do it again and again and gets gets mad if he can’t. My meds make my old skin as easy to bruise as a banana. My wife sees all these blue marks on my belly. “Don’t ask,” I say.

Back at the park, I reach to finish off his half-eaten peanut butter sandwich and inspect the nibbled edges only to find where the jelly had been there’s a mix of sand and slobber. Yum! How did it get like this? Then I look down at the dog, Luna(tic), whose pretty much done the same thing to whatever its working on. Well, it is the discovery phase.

I watch Cade for a few hours often as a favor to his mother, who somehow has kept her gorgeous mane intact. How has she not pulled it out by the roots by now? He tugs hard at her hair and claws at her face. He thinks it’s fun. Cade is not actually his first name. It’s more often, “Don’t,” “Stop” or “No” and once in a while “Good!” She talks the same way to Luna. We all do. And the response is usually the same. Both boy and dog keep on doing what they were doing, even after being given treats. Those two have us trained.

Now for Yogi. One episode finds a young couple settling in for a picnic and a full afternoon of rest and relaxation. Their tyke immediately takes off. “Dear, shouldn’t we keep an eye on Junior,” the wife/mother who resembles Laura Petry in every way, asks half-heartedly. And Yogi, never far from a pic-a-nic basket, overhears the father, whose head is already buried in a newspaper, saying, “Nah, let him go. I mean, what kind of trouble can he get into out here?” Of course, Yogi soon exclaims “No, NO, NOOOOO!” as he nabs the kid as he heads straight for the bee hive, then again as he’s just about to grab an unsuspecting skunk by the tail and yet again trying to snatch a just-out-of-reach porcupine, everytime getting the worst of it for his good deed, including when he brings the boy, holding him safely — upside-down and at arm’s length, back to his parents. “This your kid?”

“You leave our son alone. Shoo! You mangy bear!” the mother says.

“Sheesh!” he says, looking at the camera.

Of course, the kid gets into more mischief. Lastly, beetling relentlessly into a dark cave. After a few seconds he emerges, this time dragging a lion by the tail. The lion, with his elbow on the ground, his head on his fist and fully annoyed, looks at the camera and asks, “Can anyone do something about this kid!”

That’s the one. That one’s mine.