THE TOURGUIDE AND THE LITTLE GIRL

The Heritage Square Museum sat quietly in the California late morning sun. The temperature had been climbing all morning, and the soft breeze was the only thing saving the day from oppression.There, standing in front of one of the many houses preserved for its historical significance the Hale House, was a small group of people, one of which was the tour guide, a woman in her mid to late seventies. Dressed in a period costume dating to the 19th century, she stood out. Her wide brim floppy hat was an immediate calling to the past.
With the woman stood a couple in their fifties, and a Spanish speaking family of three, a grandmother who did not speak English, her daughter and her little granddaughter. The tour guide was precise in her diction as she was in her details. Speaking to a group of people as she was used to, she gave us a very detailed and interesting rundown of the territory, the house, and the Heritage Square Museum. She was not to be trifled with!

The little Spanish girl did not particularly want to be there that day. No, her calling was to some far away amusements that only an eight or nine year old would find interesting. What she saw before her was a large amusement area for her to run around, roam, and touch, to fill her time, all the things that the tour guide would find irritating, and would not stand for.

The tour guide did not waste time!

“Please hold all children by the hand” was the stern admonition tossed to the Spanish mother. The momma did not hear the tour guide, and so we set off to tour. The battle lines were set!

As we went into the first building, we were asked NOT to touch anything, and to please keep an eye on our children at all times. Being how #1 Son had joined us, I decided even at 37, we would keep an eye on him. This tour guide was budding into a full-grown witch!

The little girl started to drift, slowly at first, like an untied rowboat from its moor, just a little at first, then: far enough to raise the old gals cackles. The mother was busy giving a translation in Spanish to the grandmother, so was unaware of her little girls antics. I watched the drama with amusement, waiting to granny sweet pants to blow like Vesuvius. I was not disappointed!

“PLEASE DON’T ALLOW THAT CHILD TO TOUCH ANYTHING, AND PLEASE HOLD HER HAND!” The order was sharp, crisp and without hesitation. Problem was that the mother interpreted that also, waiting for the next sentence, then realized what was happening, and suddenly didn’t understand English anymore! This was getting good!

The next stop we found ourselves in a home with a lot of antiques, and other valuable playthings for the little Spanish girl, as she joyfully bounced around the room, touching, feeling, squeezing, the old lady’s patience that is!

“PLEASE HOLD THAT CHILD’S HAND!” Granny implored in desperation. She was not mincing her word, she was clear. HMMM I thought, maybe a catfight would erupt, or at least a decent hockey game with the gloves off!

To my great disappointment, the mother was not cooperating: she was now talking to her daughter in Spanish not to make the old lady crazy.

Oh, did I mention the couple before? You know, the one in their mid fifties? Well, it turns out, the wife liked to talk, would conduct her own side tour with comments on her experiences, and how they will all make my life more meaningful from her experiences. Granny sweet pants made mention of the wallpaper, but chatterbox was speaking over her to her husband. Granny didn’t like that! I thought: “Thank you God! You didn’t forget me! What will it be: that cat-fight you promised me back there in the other room?”

Granny became annoyed. Really annoyed! Boy, was she annoyed.

“DID YOU HEAR ME? NOW WHAT IS IT ABOUT THIS WALLPAPER?”

Gosh, I was having a grand time!

Then the final moments of my amusement came. Along with Granny was a second tour guide, a gentleman wearing a cowboy hat, boots and a pistol, dressed along with Granny sweet pants to lend a sense of the period. Cowboy Bob was intent to conduct HIS own tour. At the drop of a hat, he would go into the explanation of the hardware, the wood or anything Lowes and Home Depot could sell, often as a follow up to Granny, but more often than not, talking over the old girl.

Old Granny was getting mighty sore by now, her fists were clenching and her jaw was being set. Gun or no gun, Cowboy Bob was not going to encroach on her show!

Was this the fight? Would we see fisty cuffs in the grand old tradition of the wild, Wild West?

Alas (a little Shakespeare I use), it was not to be! Granny folded like a cheap accordion!

The little Spanish girl was happily sitting on a sign that said: “Do not sit” and the couple were talking to each other about rudeness and how it is so difficult to make a difference in people’s lives.