Like any anthropologist worth his salt, I arrived in this strange new land with gifts in hand for the natives. When I entered their dwelling place, the people of the tribe were gathered around their common table eating supper. They welcomed me with the traditional shouted greeting: “GRANDPA!” As I waved the two boxes of ice cream in the air, followed by a large plastic box stuffed full of those jim-jams collectively called “Playmobil,” the tribe uttered cries of delight punctuated by demands for spoons and bowls.
So it was an auspicious beginning for the time I will spend among the Parvi (pronounced Par-vee), which is Latin for “Little Ones” and is the name I have selected for the tribe for use in my studies.
So it was an auspicious beginning for the time I will spend among the Parvi (pronounced Par-vee), which is Latin for “Little Ones” and is the name I have selected for the tribe for use in my studies.
Some general observations are in order at this point.
The tribe consists of ten little ones, age eleven and under. There are four males and six females. Six members of the Parvi are native-born to this territory; the other four joined the tribe this past May. One set of twins, age nine and female, and the oldest member, a male age eleven, dominate the younger members of the tribe, directing them in rituals such as the washing of the hands and the setting of the table, and in turn taking orders from their two superiors.
The two superiors are physically the size of normal human adults and go by the titles of The Mama and The Daddy, also called The Dada. Managing the activities of the Parvi is a full-time job for The Mama. She rises before dawn to minister to the youngest member of the tribe, a swarthy, dark-haired one year old. The Mama prepares meals for the tribe, runs them all over town them in a large van to their appointed destinations, settles their frequent quarrels, directs their games, cleans their stomping grounds, and metes out such exotic punishments as sending offenders to their rooms or standing them in a corner to contemplate their heinous crimes while staring into a wall.
The Dada builds furniture, decks, and buildings to provide money for the sustenance of the tribe. His secondary duty is to act as reinforcements for The Mama when he returns to the tribe. He is a strong man who often totes two of the smaller Parvi about the house and grounds.
Some of the Parvi, particularly the younger ones, suffer from selective hearing disability. Words like “candy” or “gum” gain their immediate attention. (They have a particular appetite for Trader Joe’s “Cowboy Bark,” a confection made from chocolate, peanuts, ). Yet simple commands from The Mama and The Dada—“Put your napkins in your lap,” “Elbows off the table,” “Don’t kick balls in the house,” “Wash your hands”—fall on deaf ears and must be repeated again and again, not once but sometimes a dozen times a day.
Certain tribal practices attracted my immediate attention. Baths is a ritual accompanied by a good deal of screaming and crying from the youngest member of the Parvi. This clamor brings to mind my reading about the lunatic hospital in seventeenth century London, St. Mary’s of Bethlehem, from which we derive the word “Bedlam.” Such a cacophony of shouts, wild laughter, moans, and sobs carries from the watering hole to the very edges of the tribal property, to which I have fled at times to escape this hideous din.
Herding the tribe through these baths, the donning of sleepwear, and the brushing of the teeth requires repeated threats and commands from The Mama and the Dada. Four words uttered every evening—“It’s time for bed!”—always provoke shouts and cries of protest from some members of the tribe, as if they had never before heard the word bed.
Most members of the tribe abandon their playthings, clothes, and sports gear wherever they happen to find themselves. If they are playing with a soccer ball and see a baby doll on the steps, they will drop the ball in the grass and head for the doll. Thus it is possible, when poking through the monkey grass in the back yard or the bushes out front, to find balls, tiny knights on horseback, a shoe, kitchen utensils, and articles of clothing.
Such a discarding of personal effects might indicate a lack of interest in material goods, but such is not the case. To the contrary, a strong sense of ownership prevails among the Parvi, with special attention given to the old legal axiom that “possession is nine-tenths of the law.” When two members of the tribe squabble over a popular orange ball or a Star Wars light saber, shouts of “Mine!” “No, mine!” fill the air, a quarrel often followed by tears and the intervention of The Mama or The Dada.
The six younger members of the tribe often display a remarkable disinterest in personal hygiene. An example: After drinking a favorite beverage that goes by the moniker “smoothies”, they either proudly or indifferently wear milk and yogurt moustaches about the house until The Mama or The Dada wipe their lips clean. Recently, I too have engaged in erasing these moustaches. Oatmeal, a popular breakfast dish, frequently clings to their lips, chins, noses, and even foreheads, a situation met with blithe disregard by those wearing such foodstuffs. Yesterday evening I spoon-fed refried beans to the smallest of the Parvi, then handed her the spoon with only a few traces of beans left on the bowl and handle. Within minutes, she had streaked her delicate face with a war paint of bean paste.
Yesterday, too, The Mama took one of the tribe and drove off in the van to Costco, an enormous emporium of supply and refurbishment forty minutes away. On her return, the Parvi and I unloaded that van, carrying into the cooking area such items as ten loaves of bread, an entire box filled with salad dressings, carton after carton of eggs, and other edibles. As they ran back and forth from the van to the communal table, the Parvi expressed their delight in certain items with “Ooohs” and “Aaaahs” of pleasure.
Next time we will meet the individual members of the Parvi.