On Easter Sunday I was at my brother’s house sitting on my ass while he was busy cooking a dinner that I told him he needed to host. Talking to his son Zach is always a trip so I was more than happy to pass the time with what has to be the world’s most unusual 7-year-old.
A couple of months back when Zach and Chad picked me up from the train station, Zach told me that in order to get a true measure of the weight of your head, he’d have to cut it off. That’s cool, I said, why did he care anyway? Well he weighs his head quite a bit, he said, but being the stickler to detail that he is, he knows he’ll never get the accuracy he craves. Again, cool, I said and decided not to talk to him the rest of the way home.
So on Sunday I notice him with both hands on either side of his dear little head, patting away with a concerned look on his face.
“Do I have a big head? Kaylla says I have a melon head,” Zach asked, not remotely sad or shy about it. Just very matter-of-fact.
Now as an adult, I should have assured him or tried the change the subject, but this kid is beyond his years and we get along best when I’m totally straight up.
“Uh, Kaylla has a big head. We all do. That’s why we’re so freaking smart.”
He laughed. He’s a gorgeous kid and he knows it.
For the most part, my immediate family has robust, shanty Irish-sized heads. We’re by no means freaks, and we all manage to attract the opposite sex so it’s certainly not an issue but it when it comes to hats and stuff, well it can be a problem.
I’ve actually kept this in mind when I think of the man I’ll possibly pro-create with. He must have a pea-head so our children will have the chance at a normal life. Thank God things didn’t work out with this one guy whose head was so big, his high school football coach had to order a special helmet for him.