RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CXII, Issue 32847, 22 February 1972, Page 22

RANDOM REMINDER

LOCK OUT

Some parents of little girls have not the haziest idea of how energetic a child can be. That is, until a baby boy arrives on the scene to share their affections — and the nursery.

An exception to the case is a young Cashmere couple whose first-born, a girl, now: aged five, presented them with few problems. She graduated with top marks from a liquid to a diet of solids, had but a modicum of teething troubles, no sign of malaise to which infants are so susceptible, or of irritability. A placid, cheerfully co-operative child, with not a feminine foible. Three years ago, amid much rejoicing (which must now at odd intervals be regarded painfully as premature) a son arrived. And from the time he was bundled into his bassinet at home his parents have had many occasions to reflect on the fact that there is a distinctly different behaviour pattern between the sexes. Teething proved a time

of trial and tribulation. They thought at one time that he must surely be growing tusks. And his force feeding moments were equally vocal occasions — behaviour which would almost induce the Plunket Society to go into recess.

A grimly-determined youngster, he steadfastly spurned solids, regurgitating most and emphasising his rejection by spitting them out with amazing velocity and unamusing results to table napery and, at times, nearby wall-paper. But ice cream was a totally different proposition: he could have lived on it.

As he grew older his dislikes became fewer. At the crawling stage his parents were alarmed to notice that he was on a supplementary diet of his own choosing—coal dust from the bunker, earth worms from the garden, snails from the lawn.

But since he began to walk his parents — more particularly his father—have been at wit’s end to keep him inside the front gate and away from the greener grass beyond it. A substantial door hook

was child’s play—it took little time to discover how to work that hook. In a matter of seconds he had the gate open and was recaptured down the street.

That same evening another stronger nook was put on the outside of the gate, and as added security a block of wood was nailed to the structure, which had to be turned before the hook could be raised. Again child’s play. It took but 10 minutes for the . youngster to gain his temporary freedom. That night before retire ing the frustrated parent added a notch-type slip bolt to the collection, plus a further block of wood which had to be turned in the opposite direction to the first. By then it had become a battle of strategy. Father added so many more gadgets to the gate that it began to faintly resemble the work of Heath Robinson. He was winning. But not quite One morning he found a note pinned to the gate which read:—"l give up, Buster. You win. You’ll find your milk next door.”