Some neighbors stop by
Urchins knocked. They talked to Karin, who stood in the doorway.
“Is your son here?”
“Yes,” said Karin, bemused, as Samuel rushed over to see who was inquiring. “But he can’t go out. He’s just a little boy.”
“We mean your other son.”
“He’s even littler,” said Karin. (Just then, in another room, Daniel howled.)
Disappointed, the urchins went away.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Not long afterward, they knocked again. I opened the door this time.
“Can we [mumble, mumble, mumble],” the smallest one said.
“What was that?” I leaned down.
“Can we swim in your pool.”
“We don’t have a pool.”
They looked stunned.
“We have a sprinkler … ” I offered.
“Can you tell ⎯⎯⎯ to come outside?”
“I’m sorry. No one named ⎯⎯⎯ lives in this house. Is that a real tattoo?” (I asked the smallest boy).
“Yes.”
It was a huge tattoo – elbow-to-wrist, almost.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twelve.”
“Well, like I said, ⎯⎯⎯ doesn’t live here and we don’t have a pool. Are you thinking of the people next door? They used to have a pool, but they tore it down and moved away, and now someone else lives there.”
They’d had enough. My interlocutor wheeled around. His companion jumped down off the recycling bin he’d been sitting on, and they left.
I like to think that some day my sons will roam the streets with other neighborhood boys.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Have you ever heard the term threenager? It’s apt.
Samuel already wants to break out of our little household cocoon.
“Sammy and Daddy can go outside now,” he said. “To the street.”
I.e., not to the back yard.
(Karin and Daniel were at the doctor’s.)
I walked to the library with Samuel. As usual, he didn’t read there; he played with the toys. He did not want to leave.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
P.S. Daniel doesn’t have too much lead in his blood anymore.
“Is your son here?”
“Yes,” said Karin, bemused, as Samuel rushed over to see who was inquiring. “But he can’t go out. He’s just a little boy.”
“We mean your other son.”
“He’s even littler,” said Karin. (Just then, in another room, Daniel howled.)
Disappointed, the urchins went away.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Not long afterward, they knocked again. I opened the door this time.
“Can we [mumble, mumble, mumble],” the smallest one said.
“What was that?” I leaned down.
“Can we swim in your pool.”
“We don’t have a pool.”
They looked stunned.
“We have a sprinkler … ” I offered.
“Can you tell ⎯⎯⎯ to come outside?”
“I’m sorry. No one named ⎯⎯⎯ lives in this house. Is that a real tattoo?” (I asked the smallest boy).
“Yes.”
It was a huge tattoo – elbow-to-wrist, almost.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twelve.”
“Well, like I said, ⎯⎯⎯ doesn’t live here and we don’t have a pool. Are you thinking of the people next door? They used to have a pool, but they tore it down and moved away, and now someone else lives there.”
They’d had enough. My interlocutor wheeled around. His companion jumped down off the recycling bin he’d been sitting on, and they left.
I like to think that some day my sons will roam the streets with other neighborhood boys.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Have you ever heard the term threenager? It’s apt.
Samuel already wants to break out of our little household cocoon.
“Sammy and Daddy can go outside now,” he said. “To the street.”
I.e., not to the back yard.
(Karin and Daniel were at the doctor’s.)
I walked to the library with Samuel. As usual, he didn’t read there; he played with the toys. He did not want to leave.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
P.S. Daniel doesn’t have too much lead in his blood anymore.