October Stories - Biggest Toddler

Every fall, my family makes a couple trips to Malta, Illinois to visit an apple orchard, buy some pumpkins or gourds, and engage in some seasonal agritainment. The town is located just west of Northern Illinois University and my wife and I have been going there annually since she graduated from NIU. The orchard used to be a sleepy place and we were usually the only ones there, but it has grown every year since. There seems to be a new attraction with every visit: apple launchers, pumpkin cannons, petting zoo, corn maze, jumping pillow, slides, wagon rides. etc. My oldest son calls it a tourist trap. It is certainly making more money than it did back in the 90’s and shows no signs of slowing down. Give it another ten years and it will probably feature casinos and hookers. For the time being though, it’s still quaint. Now when we approach the orchard in our car, my family always becomes indignant seeing the crowds. “This is our place! Who are all these outsiders?” I felt the same way when I returned to my hometown to show the kids my old sledding hills. That area had welcomed a lot of high-income citizens over the past twenty years and the parking lot was filled with luxury cars and precious families. Yuck. It made me so sad. “Mummy, look. That shabby man is crying.”

A few years ago we visited the orchard and moaned when we saw the throngs of urbanites, but still went in and had a good time. Two hours later, we were tired, sweaty and gathering up to leave, when I looked over at a family with a few kids and did a double-take. One of their children was the biggest, chubbiest toddler I have ever witnessed. He was running around on unseen legs, climbing up and down a small brick wall. For some reason, at the top he decided to jump the two feet down to the ground. It did not go well as he crashed down on the sidewalk. I jogged over to help him and thought how funny it was that this was the largest three-year-old ever and I was going to have to pick him up. Somehow, I managed it. He was crying and his arm was bleeding, but he was okay. I probably could have just laid him on his side and rolled him over to his parents Violet Beauregard-style. Instead, I chose to wait for his mom to collect him and take him away.

Later, as we were driving home, I thought I saw him stomping through downtown DeKalb, punching over buildings and swatting at helicopters.