Critters

Ducks, a donkey, roosters in full regalia, an angora buck with wide twisted horns, a tray full of soft, fist-sized chicks, young goats and old with their sinister eyes, matted sheep, a walk-in henhouse, a pot-bellied pig which made satisfying grunts, leggy calves, a room full of lounging cats on shelves, wary horses: this was the petting zoo we took Mejo to yesterday. Of course, there were smells, wonderful barnyard smells, and often sawdust underfoot. We were in and out of dark complicated sheds, leaning on fences, peering, and the case of goats, being nuzzled.

Meja, 20 months, was interested in everything but not the animals more than the soft sawdust in the horse paddock (gingerly stamped on), the chain hanging from the gate (clinking and shaking), the low fences (pushing and pulling), the many young girls in red Tshirts volunteering (for expostulating to), long narrow passageways between fences (good for running up and down in), the metal poles (swinging round and round)

He pointed to the animals but the kinetic possibilities of the place really intrigued him. I can imagine he has not yet distinguished animals from other objects in his environment. He bumps into dogs as he would furniture. He strokes fur as he would a concrete wall. His sensorium doesn't privilege living things--as far as I can tell. He does gaze at other kids and recognizes with delight his uncle, his Mere-mere and me. His lode-stars are his dad and mum; his terror is their absence.

The whole concept of otherness and the Other that I've thought fundamental to encounters and encountering may not be apply to Meja. He may not distinguish himself from what is around him. There may be only those things which he controls (increasingly his hands) and those which he manipulates.

But wait, he does distinguish between that which is inert or recalcitrant and those who refuse to give him what he wants or ask him to do what he doesn't. Special tools are required here: a dismissive wave of the hand, a 'no', a wriggle escape, a full-face wail.

Last night, around the table, after crosswords, we talked about the shocking revelation that comes to all of us at some time that our parents have inner lives. Maybe the essence of otherness is the idea of the alternative, not just the different. Maybe the schedules and the strictures of his parents, before he accepts them as given, are teaching him what otherness is, a characteristic of Others with the same claim to regard that he asserts

We got him some fat sticks of sidewalk chalk which he took no interest in until I started drawing spirals on the cement. Then he picked a piece and drew a few wandering, somewhat parallel lines. Is imitation a door to otherness?