Kiddo#1 is still enraptured by baseball. Every morning, he grabs the Angeltown paper to look up the time our team plays, and then makes sure to listen to the game on the radio. We have basic-basic cable, so he can’t watch on TV.
About a month ago, we were at my brother’s, and he put on a ball game. Kiddo#1 watched, entranced. For the first time he could see what the game looked like. He could see what a line drive looked like, how they know a pitcher will intentionally walk a player, and what gear an umpire wears.
Listening to Kiddo#1 talk about baseball shocks me because of the language he uses: not ever having played the game, and never having heard it discussed in friendly family-banter (or, in the case of my family, highly insulting comments about every team, most especially the home-town team) he has only the radio to draw from when he wants to talk. And having Asperger’s, he possesses an amazing rote memory. Consequently, when he talks about the game, he speaks exactly like a sportscaster. He uses their inflection and their terminology.
On Sunday, Kiddo#1 thought there might be a game on a network station, so he turned on the TV. “It’s not here,” he said.
I looked up to find an infomercial. I asked what channel he wanted, and he said, “Fox.”
I asked what number he had it on. He said, “Twenty.”
I frowned. It’s been a while since I watched TV, but I was pretty sure Fox was down in the lower numbers. I asked if he was sure that was the right number, and he said it was. I puzzled a moment and asked him where he’d looked it up.
He said, “That’s what it says on the DVD.”
Now I was totally confused: DVD?
He huffed and sighed because his mother is so stupid: when we watch a movie it says FOX on it, and it also says 20.
You will all be so proud of me, because I didn’t laugh. I just said, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t work that way.”
I looked online for the listing. It was twelve (and no, there’s no Twelfth Century Fox.) There also was no game. Alas, wrong on both counts. So he’s watching a documentary DVD about baseball instead.
12th Century Fox. Now that’s a studio I could stand behind. I bet a young Snorri Sturluson would be one of their most promising new directors.
In Robin Hood Men in Tights, one of the characters said, “Why don’t we fox them?” and I was half expecting to see 12th Century Fox. Instead, it was the 12th Century version of a fax. 🙂
Cute story – bless his heart!