Regular Life

I wrote a story Saturday about a boy named Gary. It’s called “The Mighty Finger,” and instead of regular blog entries, it will appear in three parts in the Pages section. The first part is here.

I hung out around the house with Ben Saturday, while his mommy went out shopping with some visiting family. We had a great time just being guys. We went for an early supper with family, and while the ladies went to see “Stars on Ice” in the city, Ben and I came back home to just play and talk. We had a blast rolling his toy trucks back and forth to each other on the kitchen floor.

Our cocker spaniel, Lexie, lay on the floor where the living room carpet begins. Ben reached out to touch one of the pads of her feet. “Secky has a bean on her.” Her name came out that way when he was a baby, and he only sporadically says it right.

I looked at the dog’s foot. A toe pad does look a little like a black bean.

Sunday morning, I sat in the glider chair in Ben’s room. I had my oversized mug of decaf coffee in my left hand and a Halloween coloring book on my lap. Ben’s mommy continued her slumber on the opposite side of the house.

“Daddy, you need to draw brown,” Ben said.

I took the brown crayon from my toddler son’s outstretched hand.

Figuring he was on a roll, he said, “You need to eat a crayon.”

“No, nobody needs to eat a crayon,” I said.

I went about coloring the team logo on a cheerleading ghost’s uniform. Ben worked with two coloring books on his toddler table. I sipped some coffee.

“Daddy’s spilling coffee in his mouth,” Ben said.

“I’m drinking coffee, yes.”

“I eating crayons,” he said.

My eyes shot over to Ben. There was nothing in his mouth, so I examined the crayons. The pink one had teeth marks in it that could have been used as evidence. I took it away and told Ben he couldn’t have crayons if he was going to try to eat them.

We both colored a while longer, and I enjoyed my coffee with French Vanilla creamer. Tasty. With my brown crayon I noted things I needed to include in my blog.

“Ben needs to eat the crayon again.” He held a white one near his mouth. “Everybody needs to eat white,” he said.

The crayons now sit on the top shelf in Ben’s closet. The next time he plays with them, I’ll concentrate a little less on my own artwork.

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