An interesting evening, off to a good start, but nothing major, no sign of the shattering comedy to come. Jack’s in his high chair. The kitchen.
The boy does his best to snag one of the star-shaped Gerber Graduates fruit puffs. There are five or six in front of him, sweet little morsels of tactile goodness, all begging for consumption.
He’s managed to eat with his hands before but this messy milestone hasn’t been captured on film, until now. Mommy calls the camera shots. I enjoy my personal cocktail hour, offering encouragement and strange sounds.
The first puff is expertly claimed and eaten, “Well done! Yes.” My tone dissolves into the subtle roar of a crowd, accompanied by the instantly recognizable body language for touchdown.
The second fruit puff proves more difficult to corral. Jack does his Daniel-san impersonation, waxing on and off across the high chair tray. Can’t quite grab one. Standard cheering from Mommy and I, until, yes, he’s got one.
Nearing his mouth, sensing demise, the fruit puff makes a run for it, climbing over the back of Jack’s hand. Jack seems to anticipate the escape and rotates his hand. Bang—it’s all over. We cheer again, but with less enthusiasm as, well, we’ve seen this before. Our lackluster cheers soon become gasps for breath—Jack pulls his hand from his mouth, inadvertently lodging the fruit puff between his upper lip and gum—two pointed ends of the star protrude. The impression is immediate—Jack’s wearing novelty teeth.
Brilliantly, Mommy zooms in, fuzzy at first, then focusing, giving the account true documentary feel. The star points sit perfectly in the center of Jack’s mouth. We can’t take it! Jack’s bewildered by all our cackling. And then, impossibly, it gets better—Jack turns the kitchen into a comedy club by smiling from ear to ear, false teeth still in place! We laugh even harder. We can’t believe this is happening.
“This guy’s unbelievable! Are you still recording?!”
Mommy is near tears, “Yes! Yes!”
I reference his resemblance to Count Chocula, Mommy continues her stream of uninterrupted laughter. Our volume level eventually spooks the little guy, leading to a frown, then full-on crying, all in matter of seconds. And the cycle completes, we witness the final outrageous level—The Maelstrom is in the kitchen, a screaming buck-toothed madman.
“All right. Can I help you? Let me help you.” I get off my stool and console him. It’s not long before Jack’s back and I congratulate him on an Oscar-worthy performance. It was like watching a baby inhabit those Greek theatre masks—the perfect comedy and tragedy.
The video below is proof, a 1:04 masterpiece. Prepare to laugh your face off.