Hot Wheels

It was one of those spontaneous moments that come along making you grateful for children. I had a cranefly in my sights -- they look like mosquitoes on steroids -- but with only a tissue for a weapon, it was pretty hopeless. It teasingly cruised the ceiling and since my best friend's home isn't a basketball court, I decided jumping was out of the question. I muttered to myself, "If we had a flyswatter, it would be easy." At that moment a small voice responded, "Yes!"

I turned around and realized their five year old son was standing alongside me, completely absorbed in the hunt. He caught me totally by surprise and we all

dissolved into laughter. It was so precious I could have hugged him for being nothing other than himself. But just then he decided to heed the siren call of Hot Wheels toys, and hugs would have to wait.

So, with dog barking and tiny cars skittering crazily across the wood floors, five conversations involving friends and family veering off just as unpredictably, his father and I retreated to a corner to talk about writing. We had about fifteen seconds to ourselves and then dog and boy joined in with wags and toys. Writing forgotten, the important things of life took over.

Some prefer a civilized evening of cognac and conversation with Saint-Saens or Mozart in the background. We didn't even approach that last night and I couldn't care less. The chaos of family, friends, a boy and his dog, and chasing a wayward bug to the tune of Hot Wheels along the floor is much better.

Anytime.



(Hot Wheels is a registered trademark by Mattel, Inc. Image from Wikipedia)