The Six Year Old Mind
“I SEE PANTS! I SEE PANTS! I SEE DADDY’S UNDERPANTS! AH HA HA HA HA HA!” With this promising start to a mild February day, Puck restored the confiscated boxers to their original location, and got ready to leave. This included, of course, putting his head inside Joe’s old moped helmet for the drive out. Completely unnecessary.
Puck walked into the Big House with big news. Holding up his empty children’s vitamin bottle to his aunts, he announced, “Dad taught me how to open childproof jars now. I’m old enough.” He let this momentous news sink in for a moment, then continued, “I promised I wouldn’t open childproof jars of gasoline.”
We had a couple more plans for Puck’s off-week. Irish was holding out for lunch with a friend, and spontaneous wander around a graveyard, while the rest of us suited up. Puck slipped on his coat, calling it, “My an-tee-biotic suit of wonder!”
American Carnival Mart off Lindbergh. Mom had some research to conduct. Puck had an allowance to monitor. “Well, hello, Red Boots,” the elderly African American clerk greeted him. “Can I borrow those red boots?” Puck smiled politely; he never knows what to say when grandmotherly women ask to borrow his hats and/or shoes. “Can I help you find anything?” a young clerk asked us next. My first inclination is always to kindly decline, but Puck never declines anything. He pulled out his wallet. “I’m looking to buy something with all these cents.” He pulled out three dollar bills to prove his wealth. The clerk hunched down to his level and recommended the parachute men or compasses amongst the carnival supplies in the back of the store. This was Puck’s kind of rhythm. It didn’t take him long to locate and retrieve a hand-sized gumball machine for a dollar, ninety-five. Mom picked up a pack of pirate pencils – an Irish request – before the chemicals of balloons and imported goods from China had given Carrie-Bri a headache. We departed after Puck completed his purchase to the tune of, “Well, hello again, Red Boots!”
Jilly’s Cupcakes. Twice in twelve days; not bad, not bad. This time, we toted back a box of six giants, including the gold-dusted carrot cake at Carrie’s request. Split those babies up over an episode of “My First Home,” which Puck seemed to enjoy, before Mom’s nap and Carrie dyed my roots. Irish joined us after roaming the graveyard alone, laughing over the family plot entitled “Bacon.” Carrie convinced a back massage out of her while she sniffed a container of coffee; anything to pass the headache. It didn’t help that some plastic or rubber had been burning somewhere outside Jilly’s earlier. Puck tromped the yard for more treasure, including more mud. Cleaned off his footwear for the fourth time in 24 hours before Old Church.
That night, Puck embellished the usual bedtime prayer for his baby brother. “And please let Yali come soon. I’ve been waiting for, like, fourteen years for him to come home.” Breaks your heart.