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Ode: There's nothing like being roasted by a toddler

Ty Rushing
Ally Karsyn

David versus Goliath. Giants versus Patriots. And 3-year-old Ka’Mori versus 23-year-old me.

What do all three stories have in common? They’re all about overcoming the odds, emerging victorious against an opponent with superior resources—and, most importantly, persistence.

While my story may not be as glorious or groundbreaking as those of my illustrious counterparts, it was the first step for me to build a deep bond with my now 11-year-old godson, Ka’Mori.

When my cousin, Kynisha, was pregnant with him, it was almost a no-brainer that I would be the godfather. I still campaigned for the position anyway because I’m what the kids like to call “extra,” which is kind of like being a little over the top.

Ever since Ka’Mori was born, I’ve been a constant presence in his life—sort of like this third parent/cool uncle hybrid. While I take my duty as a godfather very seriously, I draw the line at dealing with the doodie. At 31, with a total of four godchildren, I’m proud to report that I’ve never changed a dirty diaper.

As a general rule, if a kid was potty-trained, I was more than willing to take them out for the day or let them stay the night. Otherwise, nah, forget it! So, when Ka’Mori was a baby, I never spent time alone with him. I would always see him when I went to visit his parents or at random family gatherings.

By the time Ka’Mori was 3, he was a fully-functional little person, but we still hadn’t hung out one-on-one.

One summer day, his mom wrote on my Facebook wall, “Ya godson needs you to make some time for him… hint hint.” Accepting the challenge, I replied that I was free Saturday and just like that my first overnight visit with my godson was set in motion.

I was excited. I had grand plans of watching all my favorite ’90s kids movies with my godson and just hanging out with the little dude.

Saturday came around and my cousin called to say that she was outside my apartment building. I met her at the car and reassured her that I had this covered.

I grabbed my godson’s booster seat with one hand and held his tiny hand with the other. I let him climb the stairs ahead of me since they were steep and his stubby little legs were struggling, which was actually kind of adorable.

We finally got upstairs and walked into the office area. Ka’Mori’s presence immediately made all of the office ladies swoon. I thought, we’re off to a great start! He’s the perfect wingman!

As soon as we stepped into my apartment, he turned on me.

“Ralph, Ralph, guess what?” he said, calling me by my nickname.

I looked at him and said, “What Toot Toot?”

“You ugly.”

My jaw must have dropped after he said that. Not only was I insulted, but I was mad that a 3-year-old had just outwitted me! My cousin hadn’t warned me about this, and I didn’t have a good comeback for his preschool-level roasts.

I shook it off and we just started chilling on my futon. I put Power Rangers on TV and everything was fine and dandy. For a bit.

Apparently, small children like to wander and can’t sit still for too long—something I soon realized as Ka’Mori ran around my studio apartment like he owned the place. Of course, he went straight for my collection of pop culture knick knacks, proudly displayed on my TV stand.

He tried to get his little hands on my mini-Millenium Falcon and lightsabers and superhero figurines. “Don’t touch that!” I said as he tried to grab a Ninja Turtle. Then the tiresome toddler started poking around my bookcase full of original Animorphs and Goosebump books, and I had to tell him for like the hundredth time, “Don’t touch that! Put that back!”

Finally, he came back to the futon. I thought maybe I’d tired him out. Then, he asked, “Where’s the bathroom?” I told him, “It’s by the door,” and he goes, “Thanks ugly.”

I sat there, stunned, while he scurried away. A few minutes later, I heard the familiar call of “Raaaaaalph!” I went to the bathroom to check on him. “I’m done!” he said, and I’m like, “Cool, wipe your butt, wash your hands and let’s finish watching Power Rangers.”

He looked over at me and—innocent as can be—he said, “I don’t know how.” I took a deep breath and helped the little dude out. Because I couldn’t just leave him there… could I?

When I told my cousin about it later, she laughed and told me that he knew how to wipe.

We got cleaned up and went back to the futon. Then, he hit me with about four or five more “you ugly” jokes throughout the night. Each one had a different set-up, which I couldn’t believe—since in my mind, this kid couldn’t wipe his own butt yet somehow had perfect comedic timing.

During our TV time, he kept getting up to touch the screen during his favorite parts of Power Rangers — and this was a time when flat screen TVs were becoming more common but still kind of a big deal to have—and I’m like, “Dude, quit touching my TV!”

It didn’t work. His little fingerprints were burned into that plasma screen until the day I tossed it out.

Only a few hours into our first sleepover, I began wondering, were all kids this much of a handful? And also, was I ugly? Because this punk sure seemed to think so.

Pretty soon it was time for dinner. Since I was 23 and single, frozen, processed foods and my deep-fryer were my go-tos for meals, which also was perfect for feeding a little kid. I made us some honey-battered chicken tenders and fries. What could go wrong?

Well, apparently, Ka’Mori was all about the condiments and dipping sauces, and I’m not. He wanted ketchup and mustard. The only thing I had was some expired ranch dressing an ex left in my fridge, and he went to town with it.

Ka'Mori is now 11 years old, and Ty says they made it past it the "you ugly" phase and still hang out when he goes home to Kansas City.

  For dessert, I dished up some ice cream and used it as a bargaining chip. I told Ka’Mori that I would only hand over his bowl if he said he was sorry for calling me ugly and stopped touching my stuff.

He apologized and we hugged it out. As soon as he had his bowl of ice cream in his little hands, he looked up at me.

“Ralph,” he said, as sweet as can be.

I returned his innocent gaze and said, “What Toot Toot?”

“You ugly.”

 

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Ty Rushing is the business reporter at the Sioux City Journal. He is a travel and pop culture junkie, sneaker collector, avid reader and unabashed nerd.

Ode is a storytelling series where community members tell true stories on stage to promote positive impact through empathy.

Our next show is Friday, June 1 at The Marquee, 1225 Fourth St., in downtown Sioux City. The theme is “Belonging.”

The show starts at 7 p.m. with live music. There will also be a community art project on display inspired by stories of standing out, fitting in and finding your way.

Tickets are $10 in advance; $15 day of show.

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