Vlady Fresh

Yesterday I took Silas to ride his bike along the riverfront. While trotting alongside Silas, a woman about my age came up to us, looked at Silas and said, “Silah doh nah?” which means, “Where are you going Silas?” In flawless Khmer Silas answered, “I’m riding my bike. I’m exercising.” She then asked Silas about the cut on his ankle and they chit chatted back and forth for a minute or two. What was remarkable about this whole interaction is that the woman didn’t in anyway acknowledge my existence. She directed all her questions to Silas and relayed his responses to the small crowd that was gathered under the shade of a nearby tree. It was as if I was invisible.

This has been going on for three years. In our first neighborhood, Anita and I became known as “Ma Silah” and “Ba Silah” respectively. Meanwhile, while out and about in the city, apparent strangers whizzing by on motos would yell, “Silah hoi!” (meaning “Hey, Silas!”). At one point things became so ridiculous that, when going to or from our house, I had to lift him up high above the other neighborhood kids who would shout his name and clamor to touch him like he was some sort of deity, or at least a rock star. At the time I chalked it all up to the novelty of Silas’ infant obesity and his fair skin figuring that, as he got older, this trend would stop.

Yesterday’s events made me realize that this may never stop and that, as long as I’m in Cambodia, I’d better get used to living in his shadow. This was a strange thought because I never imagined being upstaged by my own children, especially not at age 3. For now, I’m comfortable with this. I figure that, as compared to me, God has given him better looks and language skills and more charisma & intellect for a reason.

I just hope it doesn’t go to his head.