This year's Christmas story . .
As
most of you know, the roommie acts as a commercial and private
driver, coming and going on a schedule that defies the common meaning
of the term. Not yet having mastered the science of being in two
places at one time, he will call upon me or others to handle the occasional overflow.
Such was the case about 3 months ago when a client he doesn't often hear from showed up on the radar, needing a driver for the evening. Gladly accepting the assignment - mostly because the guy is a great tipper - I picked him up at his Virginia Beach home. For his evening out, he took himself to Ruth's Chris Steak House in Town
Center.
That was fine with me - Town Center is one of my favorite places to take folks
because it means I get to dally at the Barnes and Noble while I wait
for them to call for their return home. Or the next bar.
Whatever.
This turned out be a particularly
enjoyable evening at the bookstore because I hadn't been there long
when a young fellow of about 9 crossed my flank, giving me a hopeful
smile. We exchanged friendly hellos and kept on our respective
courses. However, invisible in my six, the little guy had executed a
perfect English bunt and was ghosting me through the aisles as I
headed for a matter I had to tend to. As I made my way back to
the “We really need to get rid of these books” section, my shadow
pulled alongside like an F-16 chase plane escorting a returning space shuttle
and waited with another smile.
Naturally, sometime during the next 1
minute and 37 seconds he packed my heart neatly in his pocket.
After making sure he was there with at
least one parent who had him on the radar – Mom was in her Book
Club meeting - we spent time together while he regaled
me with tales of toys, friends, and a tour of the Lego section. For
my part, it was a shared bag of fancy mixed nuts, organic chocolate
milk for him, and an Americano for me in the cafe.
Displaying the endearingly annoying
ability of children everywhere to handle new technology like they received their first iPad while still in the womb, my
young wingman showed me aerial views of his house. Of course, he had
to enter his address to bring the maps to bear, an important thing to remember.
After our modest repast, we found our way back to the children's
book section, where hilarity was the order as we tossed stuffed
animals around in attempt to get them to hook a three wire and then
followed that up with a side-splitting take on the 12 Days of
Christmas with the help of a book he found. (We calculated that, by the time the 12 days were over, the poor sap had 12 partridges, 12 pear trees, 24 turtle doves, 36 French hens, 48 calling birds, 60 gold rings, and a lot of other stuff . . .)
We were still there when
an emissary from Mom came to check on the party, to whom I gave my
name, address, email, phone number, and my ID. Considering the way
of the world, which I acknowledge but by which I will not be dictated
to, this was obviously a prudent thing to do; I had already printed
it all on the cafe receipt in anticipation of the moment. We visited
long enough for her to be comforted that things were well in hand.
Then we went back to laughing like two kids in a toy store . .
.
As you might expect, our initial tour through
the Lego section had included several of those innocent,
longing looks that kids will display as they see things they know
require more than they are able to produce in order to own. No
problem – we all know that will happen. Success is found in
letting your reaction create a sense of anticipation in the child's
heart. Done right, it waters the seeds of gratitude that should
already have been planted. It was easy to see, whether by design or by
accident, that that had been done in this little guy's heart by his
parents, and after having had an hour or so to let it simmer, it was
time to bring the matter up again by asking a couple of questions.
Shortly after that, we had secured his choice, and the time for me to
leave was getting close. We stopped long enough to wave at Mom, paid
the cashier, and then made that awkward goodbye that comes when you
know that there isn't any enjoyable way to do so.
He made his
hurried way toward Mom's group after a quick “Bye”, obviously reluctant to display his wish that the fun didn't have to end so soon.
He couldn't know that it hadn't – not
exactly.
____________________________________________
I spent part of yesterday with some
close friends in New Town, which may become part of a tradition
in years to come. I had a good hour or more to slay while they
finished some errands, and there being a Barnes and Noble, you can
figure where I spent the time. I had more than one reason to be there,
though. I had a couple of purchases that needed to be made, one of
which was for a young lady that I will see in a couple of hours.
This took quite some time, as she is a 3rd-grader of, shall we say,
noteworthy intelligence. Finding something that will capture her
imagination was the challenge of the day.
The other choice was a lot easier.
All
I had to do was head for the Lego section.
Last night, while the
sugarplums of song were rehearsing their upcoming performance, I threaded my
way through a neighborhood not far from home. It was a good thing I
had remembered that one important piece of information that I mentioned earlier. I don't know about
you, but aerial views of the streets don't really help me much from
the ground.
I knocked on the door, and was treated
to the sound of approaching feet – I say this because I had no way
of knowing if anyone would be home. A young man answered the door,
and I offered a brief explanation as to who I was and why I was
there, asking if a little blond-haired boy was his son. He was very
open and kind, and after calling out his son's name, I heard another
set of feet pounding down the hallway. By this time, Mom had popped
up, showing just her head from the kitchen. I felt safe in assuming she was not attired in a
way that anticipated company . . .
My little wingman was at the door now,
his Dad having called him to tell him someone was there to see him.
He approached this person standing in the opening tentatively, not
quite sure what to make of the development.
“Hi; do you remember
me?”
Still not sure.
“At the Barnes and Noble?”
Huge smile,
left hand curled into small fist, which is then used to smack his
forehead.
“Yeah!”
By now, the smile has morphed into the kind
of display that tells you that you've hit your target dead center. I
held out the gift-wrapped item I had found in the Lego section, made my goodbyes,
and headed home.
It's about 1 in the afternoon now, and of
course I have no real idea of how things are scheduled in my shadow's
home, but if it's anything like mine was, it's possible that a
flaming red Ferrari is currently under construction, with test track
trials scheduled for later today.
Mission accomplished.
Merry
Christmas, my little friend.
