Sitting on the screened-in porch. Reading a magazine. Sipping an iced coffee. Late afternoon.
Summer is all around me.
In the distance across the ravine hidden behind the trees I hear kids playing outside. They have a trampoline over there– and they play all sorts of “ball” sports, like football or softball or basketball.
These kids, who are around 8-10 years old, are a happy bunch. Boisterous.
And supportive of each other. I’ll hear some of them encouraging the other ones with “good job” and “awesome.”
There’s rarely an argument.
So, when I become aware of a lull in the kid noise, my ears perk up.
What is this, I think. Not the usual light-hearted chatter. Is there a problem over there in kid-topia?
As if on cue I hear one loud little voice yelling: “Rocket pays gizzard. Rocket. Pays. Gizzard. ROCKET PAYS GIZZARD.”
This child is insistent.
All sorts of other kid voices yell back at him: “That’s not right.”
Then silence. Nary a sound.
Of course now I need to know what they’re up to, so I wait to hear what they will be say next– and much to my surprise I hear an adult voice.
An adult who is laughing while trying to speak.
An adult who has decided to intervene to keep things rolling along smoothly.
An adult who is correcting the kids who are trying to play…
{Answer in comments below.}
THE SPECTACLED BEAN 