Masklophobia

At the reception (or the reception stand as Noah would say), the d.j. announced that a special guest was making an appearance. A few seconds later, the gunshots sounded and I knew what my Oklahoma State sister-in-law's friends had arranged. 

Pistol Pete walked into the room

I knew what was coming and I looked up to find my lil' man just in time to see him running as fast as his little legs would carry him through the crowd.  It was as if the waters were parting to allow him through. He was crying, he was screaming and he was only focused on the end destination. 

Have I ever mentioned his ill-feelings/phobia towards anything in a mask or costume? He has never liked mascots. He loves sports, but before we head out the door to any sporting event he always asks if the mascot will be there. He loves Chuck E. Cheese, but he will quickly follow his sentences of affections for the eating joint and games by saying that he does not like the real Chuck. 

He ran to the table in the far corner of the room and flung himself under it. He was terrified. It took quite some time to get him out from under the table. Once out, we left the room and he didn't return for almost an hour. He wanted to go back to the hotel so badly. He was gripped on my shoulders and his little body was shaking with dread. He was begging to leave. I felt terrible. Pistol Pete wasn't such a special guest for Noah. 

And then there is this girl. She carried her Dede's purse around all night and hogged the dance floor. She is phased by nothing. No fears. No reservations. No hesitations. She's an eager one, my daughter. 

It amazes me how two children, from the same parents, can be so extremely different from one another. It's pretty incredible.