I once went to a press event in Hollywood publicizing a heartwarming family drama, starring everyone’s favorite child actor of the time, an impishly freckle-faced youngster I’ll call Tousle-Haired Tyke.
Photo by Tiffany Nutt on Unsplash
The first person I talked to there was the film’s director, a man of many awards.
“It was a particular pleasure to direct this film,” said the director, frowning importantly. “And I have to add that one of the greatest pleasures about it was working with young Tousle-Haired. Tousle-Haired is not just an instinctively fine actor, he’s also a genuinely normal kid, too. Any time he wasn’t acting, he was off somewhere doing normal things like riding his bike. I tell you, that kid loves his bike! He’s a real normal kid, you know?”
“Well, how very refreshing, Mr. Director,” I said.
The director pointed at me a confirmative finger.
“You said it!” he commended me.
The next on the round was the apple-cheeked character actress who played the lovably eccentric family matriarch.
“And my land’s sakes,” twinkled the character actress, “let’s talk about that young Tousle-Haired! Such a young scamp of a thing, off riding his bike from morning till night!”
She stopped and went a little pale: Tousle-Haired was famously well-connected in Tinseltown.
“He was always on set when he needed to be,” she added hastily. “Don’t get me wrong, that kid’s a pro to his fingertips, you hear me? His fingertips.”
She took a deep breath, and her cheeks appled again.
“But when he wasn’t on set,” she continued, retrieving her merriment, “oh, my lord, you’d hardly see him! Off on his bike, hither and thither, and lord-all knows where. I said to him, I said, ‘You’ll grow wheels yourself, young Tousle-Haired, riding that bike the way you do.’ But I don’t think he even heard me, he was too busy off riding his bike again!”
“Why, that young rascal, Ms. Character Actress,” I said.
“Such a scamp!” chuckled the character actress, delightedly.
After the actress came Tousle-Haired’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tyke.
“And you know what normal kids are like,” said Mrs. Tyke, rolling her eyes humorously. “And believe me, our young Tussy is as normal as any of them.”
“He’s not as normal,” sternly contradicted Mr. Tyke Senior. “He’s more normal. He’s the most darned normal kid we know.”
He exhaled to emphasize his point.
“He’s so normal he’s not normal, really,” he concluded.
“You see pictures of him at the Oscars and such and you think he must be different from other kids,” agreed Mrs. Tyke. “But really and truly he’s no different from any regular kid you’d meet. If it’s a choice between doing his homework and, well, just for instance, riding his bike, he’d choose the bike, any day.”
Mr. Tyke Senior barked a laugh.
“He does loves that bike,” he affirmed.
“I do hear that he does,” I agreed.
“You heard right,” declared Mr. Tyke Senior. “Just like any normal kid, you know?”
And they beamed at each other in the shared glow of a parental job well done.
At last, I was ushered to the presence of the Tousle-Haired One himself. His hair was impeccably mussed, his clothing was faultlessly average, and his freckles were as wholesome as blueberry pie.
“I rode my bike this morning,” he greeted me, flashing the gleeful grin that had adults’ hearts melting clear across the nation.
“That sounds like fun,” I said. And since a little mild humor rarely goes amiss, and the Tyke family famously lived in a flawlessly unassuming (give or take the home screening room and the 60’ x 40’ swimming pool) ranch house in the heart of the San Fernando Valley, “I guess you didn’t ride it all the way here, did you?”
The Tyke’s grin wavered just a little.
“Well,” he explained carefully. “Not all the way here, really. That’d be kind of a long way. But I did ride it.”
He leaned forward, the better to attract my attention.
“I love to ride my bike,” he announced, firmly.
“I understand you do,” I said.
The grin reappeared in all its glory.
“Right!” he agreed. “I really love to ride my bike! I ride it all the time!”
“Good for you!” I said. And thinking that by now we had more or less exhausted the topic of my young friend’s velocipedal habits, “But let’s talk about something else now, shall we? Maybe you could tell me some of the other things you like to do for fun, too? You know, when you’re not riding your bike?”
There was a brief silence while beneath the tousle, the Tyke’s brow furrowed in mild confusion.
“Not,” he uncertainly confirmed after a moment, “riding my bike?”
“Yes,” I said. “You know, when you’re doing other things. Do you like to watch TV? Listen to music? Play video games?”
The Tyke’s frown deepened as he attempted to navigate this new course of conversation.
“Not,” he repeated slowly, “… riding my bike?”
“Maybe there’s a sport you like to play?” I suggested.
Beneath the frown, the Tyke’s eyes were beginning to dart, and I swear his freckles had paled.
“Do you like baseball?” I prompted. “Basketball? Soccer?”
The Tyke’s eyes by now were saucer-shaped with panic, and it occurred to me that it would hardly boost my reputation around town if I were to become known as the adult who made Tousle-Haired Tyke cry.
“Well, let’s get back to the bike, then, shall we?” I said.
The Tyke’s face cleared as the grin shone forth once more, resplendent between the freckles.
“I love to ride my bike!” he said. “I ride it all the time!”
“It’s the best, isn’t it?” I agreed. “Bikes are fun, aren’t they? You get that wind in your hair and you feel like you can go anywhere, don’t you?”
The Tyke nodded enthusiastically.
“I ride my bike all the time!” he confirmed. “I love it!”
“OK!” I said. And since we had returned inescapably to the bicycle, it seemed that we might as well follow it to its wholesomely pedal-powered end, “So tell me, Tousle-Haired, when you do ride your bike … where do you like to ride it to?”
The silence that followed was as long as the climb to the top of Mount Everest, as wide as the sand-blown Sahara Desert, and as deep as the sapphire blue Pacific Ocean.
A few years after this conversation, Tousle-Haired Tyke reached legal adulthood, immediately upon which he dropped out of Hollywood, never to be heard from again. I wish him well wherever he is now, and will always wonder which method of transport he used to make his departure.
Good thing no snoopy meddling adult caught him riding his bike unescorted by parents... why they might have called the police and Child Protective Services for the San Fernando Valley who could paid a visit and had a threatening word or two with Mr & Mrs Tyke about how letting their sweet child ride around on his own was tantamount to child abuse