I took the older kids to the video rental shop in the center of Pinamar the other day.
We walked there on the way back home from the beach, where the wind blew cold with the arrival of winter.
Our four-ton dog tagged along. She’s not the best for tying up on her own. With a wiggle and a shake she can take out a dozen would-be admirers, adults included.
So the four- and six-year-olds had to brave the shop alone.
I watched through the floor-to-ceiling windows as they walked in while I kept four-ton from lovingly swatting observers left and right.
As they went in, the eldest turned around and ran back. She said she wanted to rent the movie about the boy who gets left at home on his own.
“You mean ‘Home Alone,’” I said.
“Yeah, but what do you call it in Spanish?”
“I don’t know. Try ‘Quedando en casa solo.’”
That was good enough for her. She doesn’t yet know that most film titles don’t have direct translations, much to my befuddlement. It can make finding what you want that much harder if you can’t find it yourself in the racks.
The kids didn’t hesitate. In they darted, hand in hand, to ask if it was available. I watched through the window. The man behind the counter scratched his head and then leaned in closer, probably thinking what could they mean by “Quedando en casa solo?” Then it came. “Ah ha!” And the man turned to get the film.
My six-year-old daughter bolted out to me and four-ton. “‘Angelito.’ They’ve got it. It’s called ‘Angelito,’ ‘Mi pobre angelito,’” she said.
Then she ran back in to pay and ran back out again with her brother and the DVD. Triumphant. And off we walked home together with four-ton and the poor angel.