When Henry was an infant he went through a ghost phase. And by ghost phase I mean he saw ghosts (ie: waved at Nothing, smiled at Nothing and acknowledged the presence of Nothing in a way that was both unsettling and mystical to his reasonable parents.)
This phase lasted from about nine to 12 months of age. It began one morning when I
waltzed plodded bright bleary-eyed into Henry’s room and spotted him staring into space, smiling and blah-blah-blahing at a very specific Nothing in the corner of his room.
“Good morning Henry,” I said.
No reaction. He was too preoccupied with the Thing I Could Not See to pay me any mind.
For three whole minutes my perfectly rowdy baby failed to whine, coo or so much as nod in my direction. Although I was invisible, the Thing I Could Not See remained perfectly in focus.
I stared at the Nothingness he was staring at.
What on earth was he looking at? Or better yet, WHO was he looking at?
“Henry? Yoo hoo? Good morning,” I
It took some effort to divert his attention. When he finally did turn to face me he gave a little goodbye wave to the apparition in his room.
“Sweetheart, did you see something over there?”
He smiled smugly as if to say YOU DUMB ADULT. YOUR EYES ARE TOO OLD TO SEE WHAT I SEE. Returning to his usual helpless state, he threw his arms in the air and grunted – the universal baby sign for GET ME OUT OF MY CRIB DAMMIT.