The Present

The Present

By Beverli Barnes

A tadpole could swim circles in his dimples. His cuteness as a baby and young boy was rivalled by his astounding intelligence. There was something about my nephew Marcus, as a child that sparked intrigue and at times intimidation.

My mother told me about the time she showed Marcus photographs of various types of mushrooms. He was maybe three or four. 

“Grandmother”, he asked. “What is this red one with the white polka dots?”

“The Latin name is ‘amanita muscaria’. It is poisonous.” Mom explained.

A couple of years later when Marcus was maybe six, I joined my younger brother Craig and his family for a camping trip at Englishman River Regional Park in Parksville.  Marcus brought a bike with him and said he wanted to learn to mountain bike.

“Marcus, the seat looks a bit high for mountain biking”, I suggested. “You want your feet to be able to touch the ground quickly if you get into trouble. 

He looked at me sideways cracking those adorable dimples. “I’ll be fine”. He said with a mischievous grin.

“OK let’s go but I’ll walk next to you while you test your skills on an easy trail.” 

His balance was good and he rode with complete confidence, if not a bit cocky in his ability. He approached a log full steam ahead and without hesitation, he defiantly ploughed into the thing blocking the path. I don’t recall him falling but the shock to his groin was real.

“Marcus, are you ok!?” I ran to his aid.

“My balls are discombobulated!” he yelled, fumbling to get over the log while still straddling the bike. 

I was fighting back laughter. Not at the situation but his choice of words. How did he get to be so clever so young?

“Not exactly.” He whimpered, clutching his groin.

We decided that was enough biking for the day and headed back to camp. I seriously hoped he hadn’t caused himself permanent damage and that I hadn’t landed myself in the doghouse with his mom and dad. 

Along the path, I spotted a cluster of mushrooms. Attempting to distract him from the pain I asked him if he remembered what they were. “Hey Marcus…look!” I pointed.

“Amanita Muscaria”. He replied causally. “Grandmother gave me a book about mushrooms when I was four.

Course she did I thought to myself. Mom obviously noticed the same inquisitive nature in her grandson from when he was a toddler.

Over the next couple of years, I seldom saw Marcus being that he lived in Duncan and I was in Vancouver. I heard stories though. He was a precocious child, constantly pushing boundaries and challenging everyone around him. Marcus was smarter than most of his teachers no doubt and he knew it. Cockier than a peacock and sly as a fox.

I think it was his eighth birthday when he came to visit my ex-husband and I in Vancouver. He had grown so much as well as his attitude.

We went for a walk in the neighbourhood and he casually asked, “Where’s my present?”. 

I was utterly shocked by his blatant rudeness. “What makes you think you’re getting a present?”. My siblings and I would have had our heads knocked off for being so rude when we were kids.

“It’s my birthday. I always get presents on my birthday.”

“Well Marcus, you should never assume anything.”

“Why not?”, he smirked.

“Because Marcus, it makes an ass out of you and me. Have you ever heard that expression before?”

Clearly, he was ignoring me.

“I actually don’t want a present. I want money. Give me money”. He was serious but I was getting seriously irritated.

“Marcus, I’m not giving you any money and if you ask me again, you’re not getting anything.”

He started walking ahead of me. I could feel the cogs turning in his crafty little mind.

The little shit asked again in a provoking tone “When do I get my present?”

“I swear to GOD Marcus, if you ask one more time, it’ll be another year before you get anything from me. It’s not funny and it’s not cute.

He continued his barrage of demands and I continued adding a year to every time he asked the same question.

“Well Marcus, you’ve now graduated from high-school.” I quickly did some math. “That’s ten years from now. Do you want to continue this game? I can go forever.” 

His tenacity was unbelievable. “I don’t believe you. You’re so mean. Why can’t I have a present?”

My last attempt to get him to shut up finally worked. “You’re going to be a grandfather before you get a dime or anything else from me and I’m not kidding.”

Silence.

Since that day there were many more struggles as he continued to push boundaries. 

One day when Marcus was about ten there was an incident during a soccer game. Craig was watching him from the sidelines being the supportive dad that he is. Marcus wasn’t a team player like his dad and from what I understood, Marcus didn’t get the ball during a play and threw a fit right there in centre field for all to see. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’d acted out during a game.  He threw himself on the ground screaming and yelling. Mouth gaping open like a codfish gasping for air at the end of a fishing line.  “Waaaaaaghhh! Waaaaaaghhh! Waaaaaghhh! He wailed, arms flailing while the other players and spectators watched in disbelief of what they were witnessing. What Marcus didn’t realize is Craig was videotaping the entire thing. I think it was very clever and creative parenting on my brother’s part but I also think Craig had had enough of his son’s bullshit.

Later that night, Craig plopped Marcus down in front of the TV and played the video to his son. Not once but over and over and over until eventually it sunk in. Marcus never pulled that stunt again.

“Marcus Lean Barnes”, as he refers to himself on social media, has grown into a tall, lean, striking, thoughtful and extremely talented young man. Creativity spills out of him. Whenever I see the amanita muscaria, I think of Marcus. Beautiful but uniquely complex.

His dedication to the craft of glass blowing landed him at the Scientific Glass Technology Community College in Salem, New Jersey where he excelled. His work is exquisite and attention to detail astounding. He is a true perfectionist and can be extremely focused. Recently he has added music composition to his natural talents. The sounds are soulful and calming. Quite the opposite from the little rascal he once was.

On August 9, 2022 Marcus turned thirty. Although he doesn’t think it’s a big deal, I do. He has never expected or asked for a present from me since that day in Vancouver when he was eight.

So, this year, I decided it was time. He’s earned and deserves something very special. I’ve been holding onto a gorgeous piece of fine Italian white cotton for years just waiting for the perfect project. The shirt I designed for Marcus is a slim cut with French Cuffs and a classic spread collar. My partner Deb chose the perfect cuff links.  Silver dollar signs.