That's My Puck

Puck walked out of the library with a stack of fighter jet and war memorial photo books under his arm.

“I’ve gotta come back later and study a bunch for all this boring stuff,” he sighed, with the pathos of any college freshman.

I asked him what he meant, and he wasn’t sure. No book reports on the near horizon. Mimicry, no doubt.

Before dinner, Puck lugged out his boxed lab set from last Christmas. I caught him before the spice cabinet was opened for further damage. But when I looked over next, he was adding an eye dropper of organic milk to shredded mini muffin papers in a test tube. I never heard of what, exactly, he was experimenting.

He was distracted about ten minutes later by frozen blueberries and movie night: “Winnie the Pooh”.

After dinner, he photocopied pages from a shiny rocks and minerals book for his very own Puck-book, which he titled: “World’s Encyclopedia”. I could hear him in El Oso’s office on the other side of the house. I had just finished reminding him about the church Christmas party coming up Saturday night.

“I don’t want to go to the Christmas party, Mom.”

“Why not?”

“Well, if it had something to do with science, I would.”

“Puck, what do you think a Christmas party is?”

“Not science.”

I could hear the photo copier still working in the library, Puck coaxing cooperation, apparently.

“Well done, printer. Well done.” Genuine admiration.

Between our evening readings, Puck shared more thoughts with me about Heaven, hell, and the universe.

“Space just goes on forever.”

“Well…”

“It goes on forever.”

“We can’t know for sure…”

“It does, Mom.”

When El Oso returned just in time to tuck him in, there was – naturally – a brief wrestling match.

“I was going to burst of laughing!” Puck half-shouted in glee.

Out snoring about two minutes later. Takes after his dad. I honestly don’t know how they do it.