It's Time to Watch More SpongeBob

My five-year-old niece had been running away intermittently all Thanksgiving day long, bolting barefoot out my parents' front door at the face of some imperceptible social injustice, and darting across the lawn and into neighboring yards just long enough for a crowd of adoring aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, and cousins to flock to the doorway to plead for her return. "Please come back," we would say, "It's much too cold to be outside without your shoes."

After a pregnant pause, my niece would make her way back to the house and resume playing with her cousins as if nothing had happened.

It was a curious phenomenon, but then again, it was Thanksgiving - that special time of year when families come together to stuff themselves like turkeys and drown out emotions with pools of gravy and bathtub-sized vats of whipped mashed potatoes until all things strain to the snapping point.

That night, after bidding farewell to her parents so she could enjoy a sleepover party with her cousins, my niece became visibly distressed and resumed her running away. This time, however, she stayed inside the house but managed to escape her concerned and loving relatives at every turn. After what felt like a Very Long Time, I managed to corral her in an upstairs bedroom and convince her that sending a text message to her mom would be a good idea.

She dictated as I typed, "I miss you mommy. I love you." Moments later, my sister texted back, "I miss you too. I love you. Good night."

My niece perked up a bit at her mother's timely response, then asked me to send another message. "OK," I said, "One more message and then it's time for bed, OK?"

She nodded, and then began to dictate, "I was brave. I was strong. I messed up..."

I had to interrupt her mid-thought because I found the "I messed up" phrase to be so disturbing.

"Oh honey, you didn't 'mess up' anything. You did nothing wrong." My heart sank at the thought of my niece thinking that she had "messed up" anything. I reached over to give her a hug and she stopped me mid-reach and pointed me back to the cell phone.

"I messed up," she repeated, emphasizing each word before concluding, "And now you're gone."

Her words pierced my heart like a frilly toothpick, sans cheese cube, until I read the entire message back to her out loud. "I was brave. I was strong. I messed up. And now you're gone."

"Hey!" I yelled triumphantly. "This is a rhyme! You're a poet!"

She cracked the smallest of smiles then said, "I know. Now send it."

I didn't share with her my sister's perplexed reply of, "What???" and instead, took pride in the fact that I actually got her to join her cousins and go to bed.

Much later the next day, after I had shared my success with text message therapy with the masses and patted myself on the back until my shoulder hurt, I learned about a curious episode of SpongeBob Squarepants in which SpongeBob's pet snail, Gary, ran away from home. A distraught SpongeBob sings a song called, "Gary Come Home" that goes a little something like this:

Gary now I know I was wrong,
I messed up and now you're gone.
Gary I'm sorry I neglected you,
Oh I never expected you
to run away and leave me feeling this empty
Your meow right now would sound like music to me
Please come home because I miss you Gary

Here, take a listen for yourself.


I'm pretty convinced right now that I could be a much better parent if only I watched more SpongeBob Squarepants. I mean, if I had seen this particular episode, I might have acquired a better understanding of my niece's serial running away antics on Thanksgiving. And had I heard SpongeBob's impassioned response to Gary's disappearance, I might have been better suited to say or even sing the words my niece longed to hear all Thanksgiving day long, even if only fashioned to fit the cartoon episode playing in her very smart child mind.

Come to think of it, maybe SpongeBob's singing is all any of us need - now and always.