Before it got too windy and cold, we played outside today.
GQ started chasing leaves.
When we moved here, he couldn't walk - now - he chases leaves. Running the way only a one-year-old can run. Trundle, drag, lean - arms flared behind him.
When he got too far, I yelled out for him to come back to his Momma.
He turned around and yelled at me.
Then, when I said he shouldn't yell at his Momma, he started spitting.
Leaning over at me, spitting, lips in a kissy-face despite himself.
He shambled away from the leaf, looking daggers at me.
Then he saw another one. But the wind - it was still blowing away from me.
Come back, his Momma yelled again.
He turned and spat, then shambled back again.
Good boy, I yelled and clapped, good listening boy.
And he clapped too, suddenly pleased with the whole thing, not spitting anymore, but running back to me.
1 comment:
I think I heard before that in some remote place in Africa, spitting is actually polite. It is how they say hello and goodbye. And newborn babies are spit upon to wish them good luck with life. Mmmmmm yum. Maybe GQ is a long lost tribesman.
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