Drummer Boy Big Appetite

The Kid in his highchair; a thick, metal spoon in his right hand, and a baby rattle in his left, pounding on the wooden food tray that kept him imprisoned in the chair.



Grandma sat next to him at the table, occasionally bending to pick up either the spoon or the rattle if he dropped one of them, laughing out loud at how demanding the Kid could be if the toy or utensil were not always in his hands, and he was unable to bang down repeatedly on the wooden tray.



"He's just like a little animal," Grandma said, though not in a way that was at all negative or derogatory. He did kind of look like one of the Muppet characters. His hair was thin, just growing in long enough to begin covering his forehead, and was just beginning to show it's natural brown color, but still dark, almost black, the same color it was when he had been born. He still had the quintessential button-baby nose, though his eyes, cheekbones, and especially the line of his jaw were developing the profile of a real unique face; the kind of features all babies get eventually before becoming toddlers.



"He looks like his father," Mother answered, from the kitchen, where she was cleaning the dishes from breakfast with Grandma.



"I don't know, I can't tell yet," Grandma said, peering at the boy like he was unknown species, and trying to decipher from subtle facial characteristics the designation of his origin.



"Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!! Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!! Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!! Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!! Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!<br>


The Kid yelled, in time with his spoon and rattle beat on the wooden tray. Loud, incomprehensible noises were the only language he could speak.



"God, is he hungry again?" Mother asked, from the kitchen.



She had finished cleaning the dishes and was now wiping down the counters with a wet rag. In less than a minute, she had a ham sandwich slapped together on the tray in front of the Kid.



"Seems like he's always hungry," Grandma said, in awe of how the Kid took to the sandwich, and seemed to devour it almost without chewing it.



While the kid scarfed his sandwich like it was made of liquid, instead of bread and ham, and Mother finished up in the kitchen, Grandma stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, carrying her cup of coffee with her. It amused her that her granddaughter fed the kid sandwiches, and whole pieces of fruit, and leftovers from she and her husband's dinners when the Kid had only three or four teeth to his name; another facial characteristic that made him appear more like a puppet than a real child. But not in a negative way, Grandma thought. More in a cute, adorable way.



"He's choking! He's choking!"



Grandma heard Mother yelling from inside the house. In a split second, Grandma was back inside. Mother was fumbling around with the telephone, attempting to call someone for help. Grandma observed the Kid for a second, to make sure he was, indeed, choking. Sure enough, the Kid's face was blue, and Grandma could tell no air was going in or out of the Kid's lungs.



Grandma stretched her arm out, and very firmly gave the Kid a punch in the belly, just below where his rib cage met in the middle of his chest. A lump of half-eaten bread and ham regurgitated from the boy's throat, and plopped down onto the carpet next to the dining table.



"I think he's okay, now." Grandma said, heading back outside to finish her grit and coffee. The Kid was crying like a banshee now, a literal wail of fear and pain.



Mother ran over and picked the Kid up, rocking him in her arms to comfort him. Grandma could hear her granddaughter cooing to the child, and almost crying herself, the event had scared her so much.



Grandma finished her smoke, and coffee, and said her goodbyes to her granddaughter, and the Kid. It took Mother quite a while to calm down after the boy's choking fit. Grandma had seen this a thousand times, though hardly remembered going through it herself it was so long ago; the first time parent confused and overwhelmed by the emotions of seeing her child hurt or in danger. It was normal, and satisfactory to her, that her granddaughter did behave in that way when the Kid began choking. Better for a young mother, in Grandma's opinion, to be overly concerned with the Kid's well-being, than not concerned enough.



After Grandma was gone, before Father arrived home from work, Mother put three drumsticks of chicken aside for the Kid, meaning to feed him before she and her husband were to sit down and eat. The choking incident had scared her so much, she set the drumsticks on the dining table, meaning to cut the meat off the bone in bite-size pieces, so the Kid could eat it without the risk of a repeat episode of the early afternoon choking drama.



She swore later, when Father was home and she was telling him the story, that she only took her eye off the plate of chicken for less than five seconds. But somehow, that had given the Kid enough time to climb up onto the table, grab a drumstick in either hand, and completely gnaw the meat off both of the bones.



Mother had turned to see the Kid sitting upright on top of the table, holding both bones of the skinned, and devoured drumsticks in opposing hands, his little mouth and jaw chewing vigorously on the last morsel of edible meat from the bone.



Mother froze in terror; absolutely sure the Kid would begin choking. The amount of chicken he had just swallowed, straight from the bone, and still cold from inside the refrigerator, had to be a greater mass of substance than the piece of ham sandwich he had choked on earlier in the day.



The Kid swallowed that last, fateful bite left in his mouth, and then stared up at Mother. Their eyes met for a long moment, until finally, they both blinked at the same time, and the Kid let out a horrendous belch, that confirmed, in an unpleasant way, that the chicken had cleared his esophagus, and that he was not choking.



The Kid immediately began banging the chicken bones onto the table, like he had been with the rattle and spoon when Grandma had been here, singing and chanting in his incomprehensible baby rant, seeming to demand, to Mother's awe, and slight, dismay, more food!