I’m trying to convince that staying inside the car to watch F.’s lacrosse practice is nicer than running around. It’s a losing battle. Who wants to sit quietly when there’s a baseball diamond, playground and tetherball within steps?
“Wanna play?” A. asks picking up the yellow rubber ball. A cord of thin white rope connects it to a pole. We position ourselves on opposite sides and A. gives the ball a smack. It sails around the pole where I attempt to return it with the palm of my hand.
“You have to let me win,” he informs me and I dial down my game. It’s always good to set clear expectations.
After ten minutes, we escape back to the warmth of the car.
Angus reaches down and pulls an air pump from beneath the front seat.
“What are you doing?” With boys, you have to ask. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t, but again, like expectations, it’s better to know.
“I’m going to pump up the ball,” he says as if nothing could be more obvious.
It’s brilliant. And completely random.
We walk to the tether where I hold the ball steady so he can push the silver pin in. A. pulls back on the pump handle and pushes hard, forcing the air into the deflated ball. The yellow rubber breathes in response.
“It’s working, keep going,” I cheer. He pumps a couple dozen times until the ball feels firm and full.
I love how he’s connecting the idea of the blog and finds ways to commit random acts of kindness on his own. This idea is unprompted and completely his. I can’t tell you how much I love it. Or him.