In regards to my daughter Ava, I never thought I would ask my wife the question “where does she get it from?”, especially when my daughter is nine months old. However, we are generally a reserved kind of people, my wife and I, and in a matter of months Ava has gone from being a cute wallflower to an adorable little bulldozer. Lisa has gone from having to explain our daughter’s shyness to loved ones, to having to apologize to another mother for Ava’s sudden desire to pull her son’s hair.
Now, in Ava’s defence, according to my wife, she was just very excited to meet the young chap who had managed to impress her with his ability to walk. Ava is almost there herself and has made remarkable progress. Her balancing act against our coffee table has gone from resembling a delicate and slippy-footed ballerina to a sauced and swaggering bar-thug, pounding the table and looking for a fight.
Ava has lost her fear of people. She now shouts, coos and flails to get the attention of fellow TTC patrons. She is also learning the art of the temper tantrum. I mentioned this to my mother on our last visit.Upon hearing this, my mother proceeded to recount stories of the misbehaving women in my family.
My great grandmother, as a child, was sent to France – literally exiled from England – because of her classroom behaviour. My grandmother was also expelled from her school as a child. My aunt – on my mother’s side, of course – once climbed a classroom bookshelf and commenced to throw books at the other students while shouting, “I hate this place!”
This is the curveball. As a frugal artist, I always thought that I’d somehow accidently raise an ambitious money-loving Alex P. Keaton type. Who would have thought that instead I’d have a Scarlett O’Hara on my hands?
It looks as though I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life keeping an eye out for any swarthy and moustachioed card sharks.