Call Me Charlie

Issue 290

You guys,

George walks purposefully ahead of us into the restaurant, then turns left and runs out of sight. Layla tentatively follows him, a small smile creeping onto her face. I hear a squeal and know they are with Nina, the chef and owner of the small tavern.

When I turn the corner I see the three of them embracing in the tiny kitchen, Nina knelt down on the ground, both arms wrapped around the kids, her face hidden in their bodies. It’s our third time dining here.

It’s not only Nina. It’s the Greek way. We have gotten accustomed to older people patting the kids’ heads as they pass by, or hugging them, squeezing them, kissing the tops of their heads as they smile and speak words I don’t understand but don’t need to.

One evening we went out for gelato. When George finished his sugar plum sorbet he carried the empty paper cup and teeny plastic spoon to the large yellow trashcan outside. Next to the trashcan, sitting on a bench, was a man and a woman enjoying their own gelato. George stepped on the foot pedal to open the big lid but did not throw away his trash. He kept releasing and pounding the foot pedal so the lid went up and down, up and down.

Sam and I were sitting fifteen feet away, on another bench, watching. I yelled, “George! Stop doing that. Just throw it out.”

The man sitting on the bench looked over at us and smiled.

“Sorry!” I said.

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Kids!” he said with this thick Greek accent, his smile growing wider, as if he was delighted by the whole thing.

As we walked away I thought about George through the eyes of the Greek man. What might it feel like to delight in George’s trashcan pedal stomping? What might it feel like to let him be a five-year-old?

In Greece, children are treasures. They are not expected to be quiet and still and act like mini adults. They are expected to be exactly as they are. It doesn’t matter if George is screaming and throwing a tantrum or walking quietly by my side holding my hand; the Greek people respond the same way every time, with looks that tell me how perfect and precious he is, how lucky I am to have him.

Back in the restaurant, Nina walks out of the kitchen, not yet dressed in her chef uniform. She brings out a fishbowl of candy and chocolates, giving the kids two each. Another glass bowl is filled with kazoos and she lets them choose which color. George blows on his and it makes a loud noise. “Not here,” I start to say, but quickly remember that this is Nina’s restaurant and she has given them the noisemakers. Next she comes over with yet another glass bowl, this one filled with balloons. “Pick a color!” she says giggling, then pulls out a small air pump, blowing up their blue and pink balloons and tying them with strings. We finally pick a table and Nina ties the balloons to the kids’ chairs.

After we order our food Nina brings out a big plastic bin of toys and trucks and dolls and plops it down near our table. The kids leap out of their chairs and sit and play next to a wall lined with bottles of wine while Sam and I talk and leisurely enjoy our most delicious meal in Syros: red snapper fileted table-side, cold black-eyed bean salad with chickpeas and bell peppers, and zucchini pie. When the kids join us they eat five bites of fish, one painful nibble of a black-eyed bean, and bowls of buttery pasta.

By the time dinner is over Nina is dressed in her black uniform, her hair tied back. “Come with me,” she whispers to the kids conspiratorially, as if Sam and I are not there. George jumps down from his chair and follows her to a back room. Layla is more hesitant and slower to follow, but once George and Nina are out of sight she takes off running.

Sam and I sit at the table and all we can hear is the three of them, their laughter filling the whole restaurant. I finally stand up and peek around the corner to see Nina feeding them bites of cake.

When we say our goodbyes it’s been nearly two hours since we arrived. Nina hugs both kids again. Layla releases her and runs over to me but George does not, and Nina picks him up and holds him in a grandmotherly embrace. HIs eyes are closed as he rests his head against her shoulder.

We thank Nina for everything—truly, everything—and promise to come back one more time before they close for the season.

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Until next week,

Charlie