It's My Job, Mom

“Mom?”

“Yes, Puck…” I was under another stack of books and papers, unaware of the scissors flashing near my face.

“Could I cut off some of your hair?”

“Why, son?”

“Because I want to add it to my collection.”

I granted him a small clipping. But I was behind the scissors.

Puck looked skeptically at the inch and a half of blonde. “That’s barely any.”

“Please don’t complain, Puck. I just cut my hair off for you.”

Mom = Martyred. He didn’t say another word about it.

We walked into the store late that morning.

“Mom, that car is always there when we come here.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“She works here.”

“Probably so. She also put a sun screen in the windshield, which means her car will be here for awhile.”

“She also has a carseat in the back,” Puck pointed out.

“Maybe she dropped her kid off at daycare so she could come work here.”

“Well, maybe she is divorced.”

This one caught me off guard. I’m not sure my son even understands what divorce is yet.

“Because she has to take care of her child by working.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean that she’s divorced…”

“Oh, no, not divorced. Because the dad will work for the child, too.”

The world through six year-old eyes. That world includes finding cans and boxes rolled under the shelves in all the aisles at the store. It’s like he can’t help himself. I turn around from jars of spaghetti sauce and peanut butter to find my son – on the ground – dragging out merchandise from these caves.

A middle-aged Eastern European/German clerk smiled at him. “Thank you!” she told him. “Oh you beautiful boy!”

Puck walked out of Quiet Hour. Held up a baseball. “I’m going to slice open this baseball.” He drew a blunt knife from the cutlery drawer.

“That isn’t going to work, Puck.”

He tapped on it for awhile and realized my truth, then walked off with the knife. “I’m going to go cut a golf ball instead.”

I walked a hard mile at the park in the afternoon, Puck on his Strider bike. He said hi to all the walkers, and complimented all their dogs.

When we rolled up the driveway forty-five minutes later, he announced casually. “Now for some evil scientist experiments…”