Youngest Kid

I always wanted to gather these, before they become lore.

Youngest Kid

Turned around and youngest (about three at the time) had sprinted out the back door. I told him to get inside and put on a jacket — he was running around shirtless and shoeless in mid-January.

He responded, “I’m not cold, I got fur on the inside of me!”

Once we saw an athletic lady jogging on the spot, waiting for a light to change. Same child pipes up, “She has to go pee bad!”

Another? Youngest again, answering ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

“I don’t want to be good and I don’t want to be bad. I want to be funny.”

We tried to rescue a baby hatchling once, alas it perished. My youngest and I mutually agreed to bury the little bird. The next day I spy him heading back with a shovel. “What are you doing?” “Oh, I’m gonna dig up the bird and see the bones.”

Took him to the supermarket for a strut and walk. We entered and there were balloons and lights—and a big party table with cakes for a raffle. He was delighted they had gone to such great expense for his visit and proudly marched to the biggest cake and took a handful. I whisked him away.

Oh, another. I came to believe the youngest was fascinated with balloons. Especially those metallic, Mylar ones. Again, at the same supermarket, I asked him if he wanted a balloon. Of course. So we picked one and had it filled. The cashier curled a long, fancy ribbon and tied a shiny tin bell on the end. The boy was so polite and inquisitive, I’m sure she made it extra special. He was once again delighted. We walked out the front doors, into the sunlight, and onto the concourse. He stopped, looked up to a wonderful summer blue and just let it go. We watched for a couple minutes, saw it drift into a shimmery blip. Then he gave me a big smile and we walked off. It was kind of wonderful.

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2 Responses to “Youngest Kid”
  1. Your boy is an old soul gaboo, just like my youngest.

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