If you have read many of my other posts you will have noticed that I talk about my nieces and nephews a lot. This is because, coming from a very large family, I have a ton of them, and I was a pretty young when my first niece was born. In fact, I often tell people that I was an uncle before I could vote. Dumb, I know, but it is true. Well, I thought I would tell you a babysitting story that I often think back on that always makes me smile as it was a battle between the young and the younger.
Many years ago, my sister, who has two kids, asked me if I would babysit for a few hours. This wasn’t a big deal; I liked her kids and wasn’t really doing anything else with my time. So, I loaded up some board games and headed over. Her kids were a then 8-year-old boy, who does best when he is alone and who I wasn’t even sure would notice that his mother was gone. And a 5-year-old girl who needs constant entertainment and human interaction. If anyone was ever brave enough to choose to not participate in her need for mental and verbal stimulation, my niece would just talk at said person until either she or they would kill over; and time is always on the side of the young.
When I arrived, I was met with my sister and niece at the door. My sister thanked me for coming and helping her out, and my niece jumped in and announced that she was hungry, staving even! My sister then said, “Oh yeah, she has not eaten because she decided that she wants a sandwich and that it needs to specifically be made by you.” This confused me. Making her a sandwich was no big deal and whereas these days I am pretty good in the kitchen, this was not always the case. My sister thanked me again and headed out the door, promising to return soon.
We went inside and immediately my niece told me again that she was starving. I put my stuff down, and we went into the kitchen. Without me asking she confidently announced “I want a turkey sandwich.” I looked at her strangely “Ah, turkey… The most carpet flavored of all the lunch meats!” Seeing that she was not amused by this, I went on “Uh, what else do you want on it.” and this is where the confidence ended. She looked back at me with a completely blank look on her face. Clearly her mother knew all the things that she liked, but she only knew the tastes, not the names.
“Do you want more than just turkey on it?” I asked. Still with a blank look on her face she simply nodded. The universal gesture of a child who does not really know what they are talking about. “Do you want cheese?” I asked. To this she perked up and smiled saying “yes!” Awesome, we were getting somewhere.
“How about some Mayo?” Again, blank. “Mayonnaise?” I asked, just in case the word ‘Mayo was not a thing in this house. Still nothing. Alright, time for a new plan I thought as I pulled over a chair. I told her to take a look inside the fridge and see if she recognizes any of these things. She seemed pretty excited for her chance to build her own sandwich and for the most part it worked. She was definitely better at pointing than she was at naming, and with my help, we gathered up the makings for a pretty basic sandwich; and I started to build.
Anyone can put together a sandwich when you know what goes on it. When I finished our culinary masterpiece I cut it in half, she put some chips on her plate and she was ready to eat. I sat her at the table and then walked off to check in with her brother. When I got back there was only one bite taken out of the sandwich, and I returned just in time to see her deconstructing our creation. We have all been there and seen this look before. Someone who just bit into something that they did not like at all. They are still hungry and want to know if it was a fluke or if this is going to be a persistent taste.
“What is wrong?” I asked. She looked up at me and said, “I don’t like it.”
“Well, what part of it don’t you like? Does it need more or less of something? Or did you just now realize that turkey tastes like wallpaper?” I asked, clearly unsure of what the issue was. She tried another bite and I could tell that this one was no better than the last. She scrunched up her face and said, “It tastes spicy” This was very confusing to me and I asked her what she meant.
“You mean like hot?” I asked.
“No” she said. “Like, tingly on the tongue.”
This, I thought, is why children are so bad at explaining when there is a monster in their closet…
“Tingly like a pickle? Like sour?” I asked, but I knew she and I were pretty far apart on this explanation.
She again looked at it before saying, “It tastes like yellow?”
“Ohhhhh!” I said “You have Synesthesia. I have always wondered what the color Razzamatazz tastes like. Is it just like a party on the tongue?” I asked.
Staring at me with that all too familiar look of growing frustration she said in a louder voice “No. There is too much yellow!”
This was still not making sense to me and she could see it in my face. With a huff and an eye-roll she jumped off of her chair and stormed over to the fridge. Rooting around she found what she was looking for. “Too! Much! Yellow!” she said accusingly while using one hand to point at her other hand which was holding a large bottle of mustard.
“But… you wanted mustard.” I said confused.
“Yes!” she said exasperated “But a little girl amount. Not a YOU amount!”
I made her a new sandwich, and I ate the first one. She was right, it was ME amount of mustard, and it was perfect. But this event has always left me wondering, what does Razzamatazz taste like to someone with Synesthesia?
As Random As Random Gets 