by Silverback J. (Mendocino Bonobos)
Once upon a love affair, a tiny tadpole swam.
Or was it a pollywog? Tadpole, pollywog, what’s the difference?
Anyway, it was very warm and very dark there where the tiny taddywog swam. Soft and warm and wet and dark. And there was no up or down or in or out, and no yesterday or tomorrow. No here or there or anywhere. Kind of like outer space, but more like inner space, there where the taddywog swam.
And the tiny taddywog didn’t know where he was swimming or why he was swimming. But it didn’t matter. The little squirt just kept wagging his tail and swimming, because that is what taddywogs are supposed to do, aren’t they?
Through the warm-and-wet-and-soft-and-dark place the tiny taddywog swam, until out of the mysterious warm wet darkness an itsy-bitsy white dot appeared, slowly getting bigger and bigger as it headed right toward the taddywog, until the tiny tad and that teensy soft-boiled-egg ran smack!pow!bam! right into each other.
And I mean right into each other, because the wollypole disappeared inside the boft-soggled-tegg. Or did the beg-foiled-op disappear inside the smallytog? Anyway, you couldn’t tell them apart anymore because they became one thing: the same, only different. Or was it different, only the same? Kind of confusing, isn’t it?
Now where we? Oh yes, in the soft-and-warm-and-wet-and-dark place. Well, allofasudden when the two thingamabobs became one there were lights and bells and tastes and smells and everything that little lives are made of. And right away everything started getting bigger and busier, like popcorn jello. Like cottonball fireworks or pinball fruit salad. And the strangest changes started to happen to that little bubblyblob. It began growing things. Tiny fingers and tiny toes. A tiny head with a teeny nose. And between its legs a teensy hose. Would this become a tiny toy? Or might this become a Little Boy?
A Little Boy?!?!
Far, far away, clear on the outside-otherside of the soft-and-warm-and-wet-and-dark place, a Man and a Woman lay sleeping in bed, while dreams of a Little Boy danced in their head (because it was about Christmastime, you see). But when they woke up the next morning and looked around, they didn’t see any Little Boy. And they were sad, because they wanted a Little Boy to love.
But what do grown-ups know anyway? What do they know about bubbldeewobs in soft-and-warm-and-wet-and-dark places? What do they know about the Spirit of Christmas? Boy, are they ever going to be surprised. Let’s not tell them, okay? Hee-hee….
Well, one night the Man was reading some Important Papers in front of the fireplace and the Woman was playing the piano and singing “Won’t you come home Bill Bailey, won’t you come home,” when allofagainsudden in the soft-and-warm-and-wet-and dark place a tiny toe tickled the inside of the Woman’s tummy, and she jumped up from the piano and shrieked “Ahhh!!” And the Man jumped up with all the Important Papers flying everywhere, swinging his fists around like crazy to scare away whatever it was that had surprised them so. Then when he saw there weren’t any monsters or ghosts or anything he felt more than a little silly and he asked the Woman rather gruffly, “What is the matter?” But she just stood there with her eyes all watery and her cheeks all rosy and her mouth hanging open and her hands on her tummy. What do grown-ups know anyway?
The next day the Doctor looked at the Woman with his Doctor Eyes and listened to her tickle story with all his Doctor Seriousness. Then he stood up and pointed his finger at her tummy and said Importantly, “You’re going to have a wubbledeebob.! It’s in your tummy growing right now!”
That night the Daddy drank beers until he got all silly and the Mommy sang “Nearer My God To Thee” without the piano.
Well, most things don’t really get better or worse, they just get more. And over the next days and weeks and months that little blobblewub got bigger and bigger bigger until the Mommy’s tummy swole up bigger and bigger until it looked like maybe she had swallowed a basketball or a Pooh Bear or something. Bigger and bigger, until it just couldn’t get any bigger. And it was getting pretty crowded inside there for the evergrowing lovellybud. And inside and outside it was getting to be a very uncomfortable situation, which usually means that something’s got to change, doesn’t it?
Well, something did.
One night the blubbybub found a little passageway out of the soft-and-warm-and-wet-and-dark and very-crowded place. And the passageway was veryvery small, but he pushed and squeezed and Mommy pushed and squeezed, and they both pushed and squeezed for what seemed like forever, until he came through the magic place where inside-meets-outside. You know: like a really little doorway.
And when that Babyboy finally squeezed all the way through that tiny little doorway he was all bent out of shape, kind of like a crumpled up doormat. And the Mommy and the Daddy looked with Great Wonder and Great Love and wondered, “What will we name this Little Boy?”
Well, the brand new baby did sort of look like a crumpled and squished up like an old doormat at first. But “Doormat” is too long for a Little Boy’s name, don’t you think? And “Door” is not much of a name either, is it? So what do you suppose they named that Little Boy?
And that, My Dear, is how Matt was made and born and got his name, the softywog who became a Little Boy.