Tuesday, January 31, 2012

The Cut of The Lock

I am Colin McClown from the clan McClown. I was born three hundred and sixty five days ago in the Low Lands of Holland. I am the merriest of the merry. And I am immortal!

Let me tell you something about my name. The last one I got to choose, and as I smile like a Cheshire cat all day long, I chose McClown. To be in tune with my parents' choice as well. They picked a Scottish one for me, Colin. Truth be told, I do not understand why they had to borrow one, as they had plenty of names to choose from, either Dutch or Romanian. Sjoerd, Joep, or Tjitte would have been appropriate Dutch names. As for the Romanian ones, Gheorghiță or Lucențiu would have done the job pretty well. Just kidding, if you don't speak either of the languages don't try to pronounce them at home, you'll break your tongue.

I had a series of parties to celebrate my birthday but the one at home was the best of all, following the Romanian habits, literally translated to "the cut of the tuft". I'd have preferred something more elevated, like The Rape of The Lock, but they twisted the language so much nowadays and this one will be misinterpreted.

I love the whole procession of cutting the tuft. It's not only that they literally cut my hair, it's the adults' curiosity of what will become of me later. I heard them speak about it for a week or so. It took me a while to get it from them, but here's what's happening: they lay some stuff on a tray and set it in front of me. I am supposed to pick the items and they record the order I pick them and they'll base their conclusions on that. Simpler can't be! Man, am I going to give them some heart palpitations, mark my words.

So what did they put on the tray? A book, of course. As if a small child will jump to the lump of boring stuff and choose it immediately! Money, car keys, credit cards, pens, brush, lighter, telephone, a pair of scissors (who am I to judge them?) that was what filled the tray.

The next part is a little delicate, I'm trying to put it right. You know, in every child's family there's an auntie whose reputation is somehow below par. She lives in the same city, but you don't get to see her very often. Your parents lower their voice when they talk about her and when you ask they change the subject at once. If you insist, you're asked tersely if you did your homework and you never dare bring that topic again. Of course, as you grow up and go to high school you discover that your auntie is a very cool one, she has a great heart, and she loves you dearly. And teaches you valuable stuff, like how to smoke without choking, or how to play hard to get, or calls in sick for you now and again, pretending she's your mother. You got the picture, right? Well, I don't have such an auntie! But I have one who thought the tray should not be left without a condom on it. Just love her, she must have read my mind.

Anyway, my moment came, to choose the items. Boy, that was fun, to see all the faces pointed to me, anxious to decipher my fate from my preferences. I took a look at the tray and I saw the scissors. Why on earth were they there? I am not allowed to play with pointy or sharp things! Let me see... I picked them an waved them like a trophy! Have you seen one of those American movies in which the bodyguard takes the bullet and saves the president's life? That was dad, taking the scissors out of my hand. Hihihi, they should have known better. Still, what did they symbolise anyway? Parents!

But I'm soft at heart, I couldn't be playing them anymore. I sort of gave up and went for the pen ("wooow, he'll be a writer, that's great", they all cheered). Then I picked all the rest. It was an awkward moment with the condom, but I played it like a gentleman, not too keen, I pretended I didn't want it. I still played with them a bit and I picked the credit card and the money the very last. Hihihi, I'm so amused at their associations: he chose the pen, so he'll be a writer, but he didn't choose the money, so he'll be a poor writer. We'd better be making savings :D.

Then we cut the cake. Yes, I know I was supposed to blow the candle but I was still thinking about the scissors. So I put the candle out with my fingers, like a real man! But still, what would my parents think that I'd become since I took them? Hair dresser? Tailor? Package wrapper? Sheep shearer?

A few moments later I heard them talking about that over a delicious slice of my cake. As I took the forbidden scissors, I would become a surgeon. Aren't they just adorable?

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