My youngest son is charming. He has a unique power to attract a circle of admirers by the strength of his personality. People are drawn to him like moths to a flame. He was born with a talent for making friends among any group he is thrown into.
Kev was born early enough to need some time in the intensive care unit before he came home. He had no cartilage in his ears or lines in his palms. He did not know how to suck and had to be fed with an IV in his head to keep his blood sugar up while he learned to eat. His was an easy delivery for me, and I went home the day after he was born. During those long days he stayed in the hospital, I drove back and forth between him and my children at home.
I walked into the ICU that first day and found his bed empty. I went to the nurses’ desk and found him cuddling with a nurse on her lunch break, too charming to be left lying in his bassinette. It seemed that I had to go find him every time I went to feed him. He was in the nurses’ office causing a distraction while they tried to do paperwork. He was in the parents’ room with a nurse who was taking a break to play with him. Even the specialist pediatrician called him by his name while I was simply “Kev’s Mom.” I should have known then how interesting life with Kev would be.
Kev is the baby of the family, and he was spoiled and coddled a little too much. I sent him to preschool when he was three so he could learn the whole earth does not belong to him. Other children would disillusion him of that idea in a hurry. He loved preschool; he loved his teacher, his classmates, the playground and everything. When he had been there about a month, I arrived one afternoon and could not find him in his classroom. His teacher told me he was in the director’s office. I was puzzled; who sends a little kid to the principal? I found him standing on the director’s desk, charming the office staff with a dance and song about a little blue man. After that I was apt to find him anywhere: in the kitchen chatting up the lunch ladies; on the playground helping the toddlers put on a play; in the director’s office or the staff break room dispensing songs and stories to anyone with a spare moment.
Kev was nine when I married my husband and we moved into a new neighborhood. Less than two weeks later, Kev had been invited to go to the drive-in with the family down the street—the family of four beautiful, blonde daughters all caught by his charm. Today these same blonde girls and their family are among his closest friends—he has even charmed the family dog.
Even very elderly women are not immune to his personality. Kev met Sister Hood in the early stages of her Alzheimer’s decline. She was immediately drawn to him, and he charmed her through a wedding reception, laughing and talking as if she were his own grandmother. A year later, after she had forgotten his name, she saw him again and remembered his face, asking for a hug which he graciously gave. He charmed Sister Bishop in the last year of her life, stopping to sit with her when she was too worn out to do anything else.
A friend called me recently to ask if I could help take care of her children one afternoon. I was not available, but I had a suggestion. “Call Kev. He’s grounded from friends and might be glad to get out of the house for a couple hours.” My friend was shocked. “Kev is grounded? I didn’t know he ever got grounded!” She, too, is caught in his charm.
Kev is in high school now. He is taller, smarter, more well-read and well-rounded than he was before. He will be leaving academia and joining adult society in a few years. I am afraid there is no defense against his charm. Good luck, world.
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