12 Cameras

I’m upstairs in my seven year-old son’s room.  It’s almost bedtime, my wife Carole is reading to the boys.  Something about sharks, I’m not really listening, just spacing out.

My son’s have drinks in a kids cup, they have a bowl of pretzels in front of them.  They’re both eating from the same bowl.  I watch my youngest son, take a pretzel, one of the long stick kinds, put it between his toes, lift up his foot, then eat it.  I’m actually pretty impressed.  I wish I was that limber, I could get my foot up to my mouth.  I can barely go half-way, if I can even do that.

After his magic trick, I started thinking how kids are.  You know, they can’t just walk from one place to another.  They have to walk the curb as if it’s a tight rope.  They have to run up the hill beside it, jump on an embankment.  They can’t just eat food.  They have to put it in their toes, bring their foot up to their mouth, eat it.

We lose that somewhere, don’t we?  The having fun when doing mundane things.  Is it just laziness?  We want to get this meal over with as quick as possible.  We want to get to our destination that much quicker.  But kids, see, are all in the moment.  That’s all that exists, their plate in front of them.  Ok, they’re probably thinking about their video game, a TV show, going to Target.

I think we should ALL hold onto that kid inside us as long as possible.  Do you want to just get all boring and stuffy and have no fun?  Please say no.  I know when we’re adults, we have to play by adult rules.  I mean, you act like a kid at the dinner table, people are going to wonder if you have mental issues.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I saw a guy, on my way to play racquetball today, he was in the middle of traffic.  I see him go up to a truck stopped at the stop light in front of me, start talking to the driver.  Does he know the guy?  Seems strange.  The light turns green, the truck just stays put.  The people behind him are probably getting annoyed.  I know I’d be.  I pass by him, go into the parking lot, get my ticket, find a parking spot, get out, walk down the stairs, out the door, across the street, and I see the same guy, walking away from the entrance of the Y.  He’s yelling at a guy.  Seems incoherent.  I walk in with the guy he was talking to, I say, you know that guy?  He says, no.  He came up to me, and said, do you know there’s twelve cameras watching us?  The guy’s on drugs.

I check in, walk upstairs, go play racquetball.

I play good.

-Clint Curtis

pretzel-sticks

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