Chapter Two: Firsts

It was a terrific day when Peter came home for the first time. Family crammed the house full, all there to see the newborn. Everyone was excited to see this sweet little boy, and he was just as curious as they were. Decked out in a green set of pyjamas given to him by his aunt on his mother’s side, the little one continuously glanced around in wonder, amazed at all that he saw. He was always curious about what was going on, and always wanted to be a part of everything. And, being the spoiled little boy that he was, he got what he wanted. Never to be put down, even for a moment, Peter was always the first in the know about what was happening. The child never slept through a full night until he turned a full year old, much to the dismay and frustration of his parents. You could not ever keep that child still, even when you wanted to, though. He was always squirming around when his diaper needed to be changed, when he was being tucked in to bed, and even when someone was playing with him.

Peter never had patience for baby shows. When he would awaken in the middle of the night, his father would often let him stay up and let him watch the action/adventure programs that they loved so much. Although the two would often fall asleep before catching the end, it was something that they did often. As Peter grew older, so did his need for attention and adventure. By age 2, he had learned how to walk up to a jogging speed and did so regularly, also climbing up on the couches and sometimes countertops.

At age 2 and a half, Peter said his first word to his mother, which was, “Bang!” She laughed when he moved his tiny fingers into a little gun and cried the word. She feinted clutching her heart and fell over, gasping. Peter’s little features changed maliciously as he laughed at her, but then frowned with worry when she didn’t get up instantly. He made a gurgling sound as he looked down at her, but then laughed again, delighted, when she stood back up and tickled him. He continued to say the word daily, occasionally mixing it with, “Bam!” and, “Boom!”

Once he turned 3, Peter began having very strict opinions and demanded that everything went accordingly. It became very apparent that his favourite colour was green when it was the only crayon he would colour with and that he would wear. His favourite pastime for the longest time was lying in the grass, just staring at it. He once made the mistake of eating it, giving his father quite a scare, and receiving a smack on the bum and a stern finger wag.

Peter always had boundless energy that no one could harness, not unless they were willing to make him a bribe. He enjoyed chocolate and loved the way it melted on his tongue, making it brown and sticky. He would cross his little arms and turn his back on you, giving you the silent treatment, until you were to give him more. It was the only thing that calmed him down, and only for it would he listen to instructions or go down for his nap. Peter never acted tired, although he would sometimes have a look on his face of suppressing a yawn but that he doesn’t want you to know. He was a very sneaky child, climbing up and snatching cookies and candies from the table and counters, only to be caught by the trail of crumbs he would leave, leading the detective straight to his favourite hiding place behind the couch.

It was at age 5 when his parents realized the amazing artistic abilities of their child, when one day, they found him doodling on a scrap piece of paper while watching the television. Although he did so often, the detail and foliage of the tree that he had drawn with the many different colours of leaves of the fall season astounded them. When he was finished, he just stared at it with pursed lips, not yet seeming satisfied as he tapped his chin with the brown crayon that he had used for the trunk. After watching his page for a minute, he smiled and nodded, folding it up and shoving it in his pocket. The next time that his parents saw the picture was a few months later, when he had included it in a birthday present for his mother. His creativity was underlined and bolded throughout everything he did, as he was always experimenting, drawing, or doing writing of some sort. It was a very funny moment indeed when his parents caught him playing hopscotch and trying the board over and over again, only crossing it in different ways each time.

Peter often tried to act younger than he was to gain attention, and it was quite easy for him with being a little bit short for his age. His mother recalled once when she had finished reading him his bedtime story and he had looked at her and said, in a very adult tone of voice and a determined glare, “Mommy, I want to be a little boy forever.” She had just chuckled and ruffled his hair. Little did she know that what he had just said was to become his lifelong fixation.

The End

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