My grandson Bennett was so excited that the weather had finally turned warm that he pulled on his shirt backwards, didn’t comb his hair, forgot about socks and barely got his shoes on the right feet before rushing to the garage. Pulling his trusty red wagon, he set out to find treasure in the neighborhood. A big adventure, all under the watchful eyes of his mother who let him get just far enough in front of her to give him the illusion of freedom. The sidewalk was his yellow-brick road; the quiet streets of the neighborhood his world for the conquering. The captain of his little red ship.
During the short walk he found twigs and rocks and pieces of bushes just beginning their summer growth. To him they were priceless. He crouched down close to the sidewalk to watch ants skitter across in front of him, assuring them he meant them no harm. He waved at the birds flying above him. Twigs were snakes or magic wands, rocks were gold or cookies or stones of a castle. The whole trip lasted no longer than thirty minutes but by the time he returned home, his wagon was filled with wondrous things that would end up in the yard waste basket after an appropriately thorough examination and great appreciation befitting the bootie. He had asked a million questions of his mother who patiently played along in her role of first mate and resident sage on the 2013 maiden voyage of the SS Bennett.
Spring in Ohio. Ahoy, Matey!
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