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Marcus Aurelius and His Eel

Marcus Aurelius and His Eel As soon as the “fasten seat belts” sign went off, I hightailed it back to the restroom at the rear of the airplane; we had spent almost an hour on the tarmac awaiting takeoff. My wife and I were flying nonstop to Toronto, Ontario, to visit our daughter, son-in-law, and newborn grandson, Jonah. “It’s occupied,” smiled the young woman as I approached the only restroom, “and if it’s all right with you, I promised Markie he could go next.” She was sitting in the last row with her little boy. “How old is Markie?” “ How old are you?” she asked Mark. He held up 5 fingers. “He seems like a well-behaved young fellow.” “Just come by the house before bedtime,” she said. “I am the grandfather of a 3-year-old boy, so I know what you mean!” “Is that who you are going to visit in Toronto?” she asked. “No, we are going to see my daughter’s newborn son for the first time. She must be about your age.” “That’s lovely,” she said. She paused, ”I have a less pleasant mission. My dad is a retired classics professor in Toronto. He has poor circulation and will have to lose a leg; I’m going to help him find new living arrangements.” “Jeez, that’s a rough one,” I said. “Is your mom still alive?” She shook her head, “And I’m a recent widow, so it’s up to me. We’ll have to put the house where I was born up for sale. That’s why I’m taking Markie up to get a last look at the old house and to see his granddad who he’s crazy about.” Then in a whisper, “Mark senses how sick Grandpa is and worries he will die soon, too.” Mark was playing with a long stuffed animal, easily as long as Mark was tall. “What do you have there, Mark?” I asked. “Is that a snake—a big old boa constrictor?” “It’s a eel,” shouted Mark. “If you pull his tongue, he will talk!” He pointed the eel’s head at me and opened the mouth. I saw the red tongue and gave it a pull. There was a whirring of gears inside the eel’s belly and then a robotic voice said, “Hello—hello.” Mark looked up at my face. “Now that’s an eel,” I said. “Quite an eel.” At this point, the restroom door opened and a portly man tried to squeeze his way out. “They make these things smaller and smaller each year,” he said cheerfully. “Okay, Marco Polo, it’s your turn,” I said. “Just do what you have to do, and I’ll help with the washup after.” “Don’t lock the door,” warned Mark’s mother. After a few minutes, I heard the toilet flushing. Mark stuck his head out. “I got the soap on, but I can’t work the water.” I got in and stood behind Mark. Gobs of liquid soap were on his hands, but when I pressed the water switch nothing came out. “Mark, here are some paper towels—just get the soap off as best you can.” As I was standing behind Mark and helping him, he turned around and said to me, “My grandfather has both legs on him now.” His voice had taken on a frightened tone. “Yes, I know that. He will be fine,” I answered, and he returned to his mom. I stopped at their seats briefly after my restroom visit. “I hope it goes well for you,” I said, not knowing what else to say to Mark’s mother. I turned to the boy and said, “Salve Atque Vale. Hail and farewell, Marcus Aurelius.” His face lit up with a radiant smile—he had heard that appellation before, probably from his grandfather—and gave me an affectionate whack on the shoulder with Eel. Correspondence: Dr Druss, Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons, 180 East End Ave, Suite 1D, New York, NY 10128. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Archives of Pediatrics & Adolescent Medicine American Medical Association

Marcus Aurelius and His Eel

Abstract

As soon as the “fasten seat belts” sign went off, I hightailed it back to the restroom at the rear of the airplane; we had spent almost an hour on the tarmac awaiting takeoff. My wife and I were flying nonstop to Toronto, Ontario, to visit our daughter, son-in-law, and newborn grandson, Jonah. “It’s occupied,” smiled the young woman as I approached the only restroom, “and if it’s all right with you, I promised Markie he could go next.” She was...
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Publisher
American Medical Association
Copyright
Copyright © 2005 American Medical Association. All Rights Reserved.
ISSN
1072-4710
eISSN
1538-3628
DOI
10.1001/archpedi.159.2.107
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

As soon as the “fasten seat belts” sign went off, I hightailed it back to the restroom at the rear of the airplane; we had spent almost an hour on the tarmac awaiting takeoff. My wife and I were flying nonstop to Toronto, Ontario, to visit our daughter, son-in-law, and newborn grandson, Jonah. “It’s occupied,” smiled the young woman as I approached the only restroom, “and if it’s all right with you, I promised Markie he could go next.” She was sitting in the last row with her little boy. “How old is Markie?” “ How old are you?” she asked Mark. He held up 5 fingers. “He seems like a well-behaved young fellow.” “Just come by the house before bedtime,” she said. “I am the grandfather of a 3-year-old boy, so I know what you mean!” “Is that who you are going to visit in Toronto?” she asked. “No, we are going to see my daughter’s newborn son for the first time. She must be about your age.” “That’s lovely,” she said. She paused, ”I have a less pleasant mission. My dad is a retired classics professor in Toronto. He has poor circulation and will have to lose a leg; I’m going to help him find new living arrangements.” “Jeez, that’s a rough one,” I said. “Is your mom still alive?” She shook her head, “And I’m a recent widow, so it’s up to me. We’ll have to put the house where I was born up for sale. That’s why I’m taking Markie up to get a last look at the old house and to see his granddad who he’s crazy about.” Then in a whisper, “Mark senses how sick Grandpa is and worries he will die soon, too.” Mark was playing with a long stuffed animal, easily as long as Mark was tall. “What do you have there, Mark?” I asked. “Is that a snake—a big old boa constrictor?” “It’s a eel,” shouted Mark. “If you pull his tongue, he will talk!” He pointed the eel’s head at me and opened the mouth. I saw the red tongue and gave it a pull. There was a whirring of gears inside the eel’s belly and then a robotic voice said, “Hello—hello.” Mark looked up at my face. “Now that’s an eel,” I said. “Quite an eel.” At this point, the restroom door opened and a portly man tried to squeeze his way out. “They make these things smaller and smaller each year,” he said cheerfully. “Okay, Marco Polo, it’s your turn,” I said. “Just do what you have to do, and I’ll help with the washup after.” “Don’t lock the door,” warned Mark’s mother. After a few minutes, I heard the toilet flushing. Mark stuck his head out. “I got the soap on, but I can’t work the water.” I got in and stood behind Mark. Gobs of liquid soap were on his hands, but when I pressed the water switch nothing came out. “Mark, here are some paper towels—just get the soap off as best you can.” As I was standing behind Mark and helping him, he turned around and said to me, “My grandfather has both legs on him now.” His voice had taken on a frightened tone. “Yes, I know that. He will be fine,” I answered, and he returned to his mom. I stopped at their seats briefly after my restroom visit. “I hope it goes well for you,” I said, not knowing what else to say to Mark’s mother. I turned to the boy and said, “Salve Atque Vale. Hail and farewell, Marcus Aurelius.” His face lit up with a radiant smile—he had heard that appellation before, probably from his grandfather—and gave me an affectionate whack on the shoulder with Eel. Correspondence: Dr Druss, Columbia University College of Physicians and Surgeons, 180 East End Ave, Suite 1D, New York, NY 10128.

Journal

Archives of Pediatrics & Adolescent MedicineAmerican Medical Association

Published: Feb 1, 2005

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