Something Beyond Recall

“Miss Lucy?” I ask Jackson, who immediately positions himself facing me, claps his hands together, as we intone the first word, drawing it out, “Miss. . . . .”, until we’re ready for the first right-hand-to-right-hand clap. It’s one of the simplest patty-cake games there is – right-to-right, left-to-left, both-to-both, and I’m amazed at how effortlessly the absurd lyrics come back to me as I chant:

Miss Lucy had a steamboat,

The steamboat had a bell.

Miss Lucy went to heaven,

And the steamboat went to –

Hello operator,

Give me number nine.

And if you disconnect me,

I will kick you in the –

Behind the refrigerator,

There was a piece of glass.

Miss Lucy sat upon it,

And she broke her little –

Ask me no more questions,

Tell me no more lies.

The boys are in the bathroom,

Pulling down their –

Flies are in the meadow,

The bees are in the park.

The boys and girls are kissing in the --

D-A-R-K, D-A-R-K, D-A-R-K, dark, dark, dark.

This activity is something beyond recall or memorization. It is a chant so ingrained in my consciousness that it nearly feels involuntary, like breathing, or pumping blood through my veins. The words, or the narrative they form, telling of childhood naughtiness and “bad words” almost spoken still give me a giggle, and Diego is now old enough to get the double entendres.

Jackson, on the other hand, is still at the age when the fun is in the clapping with Daddy. Pretty soon he’ll get that glint in his eyes when he thinks, “Hey, wait a minute. I think I know what this thing is about.”

For me it’s yet another bit of time travel, back to long summer days filled with activity, including sitting with my younger brother, clapping hands, faster and faster, telling the silly story of Miss Lucy and laughing until we gave ourselves the hiccups.