I admit that maybe it wasn’t the most ecologically friendly thing, lining my pockets with Ziploc bags almost every night. My mom probably went through a box a week. Ok, maybe even that is an exaggeration, but it was a long time ago. I have trouble remembering…
Anyway, I did it for a good cause. At least, that’s what I’ll tell you. The dog ate well anyway. Besides, if I didn’t line my pockets with plastic bags, those sautéed beans would have stained my shorts. If it wasn’t the beans, it would have been the steamed broccoli or the carrots or the asparagus. Ewww…the asparagus.
But not the corn. I liked corn.
And like I said, the dog ate well. Whatever I hid from the evil chef who was trying to kill me with that vile gruel I gave to the dog. The dog didn’t seem to mind. I mean, the tail kept wagging anyway.
But it wasn’t just the toxic waste that was served up every night. It was the brainwashing, mind control too. You know…chores? Dusting, vacuuming, picking things up off the floor? I mean, really? I have to overcome the built in engineering defects of GRAVITY?! If my shirts were meant to hang weightless in my closet as if I lived in a space station, I would be living in a space station!! Needless to say, I didn’t win that argument.
To be clear, I’m still convinced that “chore” is Latin, meaning “slow death”.
Saturday morning was like a furlough. CARTOONS! I had perfected the art of watching the television at such low levels so as to not wake anyone that I felt bat-like. Like it was a super power. Add a pair of footy pajamas and a blanket tucked around the neck and I could sit in near silence for hours pretending I was scanning the airwaves looking for felonious coyotes and tom cats. Even a wascally wabbit now and again…
Ironically, though, I preferred to be outside. Ironic in that each day I had been anticipating the week’s end so that I could do nothing but sit in front of the television. But when you have a pool with a diving board, who wants to be inside when you could be outside learning to fly?
Still, anything to not be told what to do. I think “parent” is a Latin translation as well, but I can’t tell you what it is. After my recent observations concerning the feline conspiracy, I’ve been hearing funny clicks on my phone. Let’s just say…I’m not alone.
The truth is, I refuse to grow up. Sure, I’ve got responsibilities now, and I’m allowed to do some things as an adult that I couldn’t do as a kid, but I’m holding on. Not that I want to be that fifty year old man-child, but I hold on to little moments. Dancing in the grocery store, jumping down steps, playing in the surf. I’ve learned to like beans and carrots and broccoli and even asparagus. I guess my mom wasn’t trying to kill me after all. I still sneak a little leftovers to the dog, just for old times sake.
I laughed and snorted the other day and the water I had been drinking nearly shot out of my nose. I began to laugh even more. It was the greatest feeling ever! Well, once the pain of a liquid shooting out of my nose subsided.
No, I don’t think I’ll ever grow up. I still think “chore” is a dirty word (see what I did there?), but I don’t like living with Sasquatch sized dust bunnies either. I guess it’s a give and take.
I know that I’m staying young and having fun, regardless of my age. I feel great and happy, and “play” is still constantly on my mind. And when I have the remote and I’m bouncing between channels during commercials and my wife gives me that look, I know that little kid is still there inside me.
I can’t help but giggle…
8 thoughts on “The Seriousness of a Child at Play”
Brilliant post. My husband and I are the same. Over our summer vacation together, we have planned to build a fort in the living room and stay up as late as possible watching movies. Of course, we will have a store of junk food in a cache somewhere. 🙂 Loved the Ziploc bag part!
That’s AWESOME…I LOVE the fort idea! I’m going to have to steal that one…
Thanks for the comments. Have an incredible week!!
It’s definitely a fun thing to do at any age! I hope you have a good week too! 🙂
As ususal, LOVE it, Greg. I think all of us adults still have some inner child inside, at least I hope so. I think that keeps us young. I still get goofy looks from my kids when I use cartoon voices from my childhood or dance to disco music from my teenage days. I have grown up and am adult-like most of the time, but every now and again, my child side sneaks out to play. Happy that your child side is alive and well. Good for you!!
Thanks Dava!! I’m very fortunate in that my mom is a total dork as well, and happy to flaunt her inner child. I learned pretty early on that goofy is good. My dad gets in on the act occasionally, but he and my older brother generally just stand back and do the “point and laugh” when we all get together. I’m glad you liked this…
There can never be too much love or laughter, that is unless you’re drinking something while laughing. What a great post, Greg.
What’s wrong with dust bunnies? They give my cat something to play with when I forget to put out her toys. Of course, once in a while the dust bunny and the toy become one and the same, but the cat never seems to care! LOL
Ha ha ha…I don’t have a problem with dust bunnies until they get to Discovery Channel proportions. I’m not real keen on being an Inquirer headline. 🙂
Thanks for stopping in and commenting!!!