Wednesday, March 16, 2011
So, this afternoon, B and I piled the kiddos in the car and took ourselves to a park to run, let the sun shine on our pasty faces, and feel the breeze. On the way to the park the little Mr. piped up from the backseat:
"Mommy...do you like slides?" "Yes, I do." "Did you like them when you were little?" I was wondering where we were going with this. "Yes, I liked them when I was little." "How about when you were eight, nine, or ten?" "Yep, I liked them then too." "Then, what color were they?" Ummmm...that was a lot of years ago, and I began wondering how to answer this, and why it was important.
As I was quickly trying to come up with a color, I suddenly remembered the one bad slide experience I'd had. I was about eight years old and I was climbing up this twisting metal slide when all of a sudden a kid came barreling down the slide, knocked me over and I landed face first on the metal, knocking my two front teeth loose. Dirt and tears were streaming down my face as I ran to find my mom. I remember she picked me up and carried me to the car, and then everything was a bit fuzzy after that. I remember popsicles to ease the pain...confirmations from many adults that the teeth were saved, and my fear of large slides for a very long time. The little Mr. piped up again, "Mommy...what color was it?"
"It was actually metal buddy...it was a big, twisty, metal slide." He was quiet a bit and then he said matter-of-factly, "Oh, that sounds old and not very fun." I instinctively touched my tongue to the back of my teeth and replied,"Actually buddy, it was really fun...they don't make slides like those anymore." "Because they're super-old?" "Yeah...because they're super-old."