Processing

“How many llamas were killed to make this?”

Puck held up the rawhide and bone Native American necklace from his 6th birthday.

“I think that’s deer skin actually, bud.”

“Oh.” His silence was momentary. “They killed a deer to make this?”

“Well, only one. And they probably killed the deer to eat it, so it wasn’t a waste.”

Puck thought for a moment. “At least it was to eat it. I love wildlife.”

I should have anticipated the arriving soapbox:

“Too bad the Indians did bad things like worship goddesses. But they were just minding their own business when the Eur-ruh-peans were there and destroyed everything. Yeah, they were just minding their own business, hum-de-hum-de-hum, and – POW – the pioneers were on their island, their land, and few remained. That was unchristianly of them.”

Puck focused his mental and physical energies on the back yard that afternoon. The sun had warmed the grass and Puck had ideas to live out. He switched into shorts and muscle man shirt for the occasion. I heard something about a hammer, which I denied, then saw a rake walk past the window. The next time I looked, he had built a house from gates, pipes, and the expired plastic playhouse that I thought I had finally gotten rid of.

“Mom! Look at my house! See that pipe? That’s the garbage tube. The garbage goes down into the Earff. It’s good for the Earff. You can do the interior decorating, okay?”

Who taught him that? Mom, no doubt.

Then the school bus of friends arrived. He ran out the front door, slamming it behind him:

“SEE YA LATER, MOM! SEE YA LATER!”

Is he that old already?

Earlier, he found the newly bloomed grape hyacinth in the front yard:

“Mom! Don’t look!”

He picked almost half of them and handed me the bunch with a big grin.

Puck’s last thrill of the evening came in driving the truck around the neighborhood with El Oso as he pulled back in from work.

Rose showed up after 7:30 while the Cards began to lose an 11-inning battle downtown, to join us in watching the absolute worst movie we had ever seen. The Peanut Gallery was practically closed, we were all at such a total loss for words. She left about three hours later; had an early perm scheduled in the morning.