oldmainer

If you decide to ask a question when you don’t expect a subjective answer, never, ever, ever, ask a kid. Responses will range from an earnest belief, opinion, whimsy, fantasy, and sometimes, answers totally removed from the question entirely.You have to be ready to quickly provide an answer that will at least sound like you understand perfectly what they just said. But, now, you are already up to your knees in a conversation that is totally out of your control, as they will invariably ask their own questions which, unless you are very fortunate, will have nothing to do with anything previously discussed.

If any of you reading this also read my post on the wonderful Thanksgiving I had at my neighbors home where I was surrounded by not only my hosts and their children, but by their grandchildren, lots of grandchildren, you no doubt can appreciate where I am coming from.

My wife and I never had children of our own although we loved them. Whenever an opportunity presented itself to hold, play with, talk with, or just welcome children of friends or neighbors to our home we always enjoyed their presence. There is nothing comparable to verbal interaction with a child.

I was reminded of this earlier this week while walking Kramer down my street. Some of those self same grandchildren that graced my Thanksgiving were out playing in their grandparents yard. I knew this instinctively as I exited my home and heard the screaming, elevated conversations, and the joy. No cause for alarm. 911 was not required. They were deeply involved in being kids.

As Kramer and I approached, several of them were at the end of their driveway and, of course, Kramer was a magnet. I was immediately surrounded by a posse of, I don’t know, four to eight year olds. I know one was eight because when I asked her she said “I’m eight, eight and a half, almost nine”. I could relate to that because kids and seniors are very prone to elevating their age to the next milestone.

The questions about Kramer came fast and furiously. At that point, I had the answers. I just couldn’t keep up with their questions. ” What’s his name? How old is he? Can I pat him? However, while I was engrossed in the seminar, Kramer was having nothing to do with it. Oh, he was interested, until he realized that those little hands reaching toward him were without treats. So, I gave each of them some treats which changed Kramer’s attitude dramatically. However, the kids apparently enjoyed the activity as much as Kramer did and were well on their way toward making this their new favorite pastime.

Somewhere around that time is when the conversation took a sharp left turn. Out of nowhere, one of them said “are you Uncle Bob?” I had one of those senior moments where my mind went blank, retreated to the back of my head and went into a caucus. After a quick analysis of viable responses, I said “well actually, I’m your neighbor and live over there, while pointing at my house. But, my name is Bob. But I prefer to be called Mr. You can call me Mr Bob if you like”. I was pleased when they chose not to pursue it further. That is however, until they, moving as a group, decided to retreat up their driveway, and one of them turned around and said “goodbye Uncle Bob”.

I would like to interject a disclaimer here. If there is an Uncle Bob out there, I apologize for usurping the authority bestowed on you via birth. I have no intention of running for the post, nor, if nominated, would I agree to serve., although, for a guy living without the benefit of being surrounded by those whose innocence is so infectious, I have to admit I liked it.

By the way I’m eighty six, eighty six and a half, almost eighty seven. Just saying.