THE EMERGENCE OF THE NEXT DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA!
Grandpa, let’s ride in the wagon. I guess that’s how a lot of it began. We walked and we talked. There isn’t much that we have not discussed, at least for the capabilities of a 3 year old. Look Grandpa, a rock! Look Grandpa, an acorn! Now, an acorn is anything from a pecan to a pine cone. Grandpas and Grandsons understand these things.
Look Grandpa, a digger thingie! Guess what that is? It’s a railroad spike. Everyone should know that. We travel along the same railroad I traveled with his mom Doña Duchess. It’s out of the wagon and acquiring the digger thingie to dig up a half sunken brick. There is very little we can’t do. We don’t play with red ants. We chase butterflies. We pick flowers right out of Doña Sanchette Grandma’s flower garden.
We finally arrive at the park. Don Andrew begins to swing. If there were 25 swings he would try them all. He does the little slides but that’s never enough. He must go down the slide of slides. Only shortly does he ride the merry-go-round. He’s already attuned to bigger and better things.
I remember a song that goes like this: Sittin’ in the morning sun, I’ll be sittin’ when the evening comes. Watchin’ the ships come in, Then I watch ‘em roll away again. Yea! I’m sittin’ on the dock of the bay watchin’ the time roll away. Ooh! I have a son who says this just has to be the most boring song of all time; seems like the dude hasn’t got much to do. But, we both love the song.
As Otis Redding sings on we see why he is there: he left Georgia to go to Firsco Bay because he got tired of trying to do what 10 people were telling him to do. 2000 miles he’s traveled just to be alone. Pretty drastic, wouldn’t you say? Some folks I know are a little more ingenious than that. Bill will be going fishing for a week on October 1. I really wouldn’t mind being there or Frisco Bay or San Diego on one of these hot West Texas afternoons. People have their way to figure out how to find a little peace and solitude a little closer to home than the song portrays. Perhaps they don’t sell as many records as O. R. does, but they are still ingenious.
I guess you’ve figured that I’ve found my own way of handling all that. I don’t like to be alone completely. In those days after he turned 3 I would pick Don Andrew up. Finally we went straight to the park. There were slides, swings, merry-go-rounds and everything else that should grab any kid’s attention. Guess what? We began a new era.
All that stuff to play on and Don Andrew looked over there on the ground and said, Look, Grandpa! A stick. About 50 sticks later and we file them all away in a safe place and go home. Of course, he had to take a tree stick with him. That’s a special kind of stick only Grandpas and Grandsons know about.
What did he do with those sticks while we were there? Well, he put one in each hand and began attacking trees, fences, and shrubs. If there had been a windmill there, it would have been in trouble. Thus was born Don Andrew, alias Don Quixote de la Mancha or vice versa.
Once he saw a cartoon to the effect, he was now Don Quixote and I was Sancho Panza. And that is not the end of the story. There are many adventures left to tell.
Look Grandpa, a digger thingie! Guess what that is? It’s a railroad spike. Everyone should know that. We travel along the same railroad I traveled with his mom Doña Duchess. It’s out of the wagon and acquiring the digger thingie to dig up a half sunken brick. There is very little we can’t do. We don’t play with red ants. We chase butterflies. We pick flowers right out of Doña Sanchette Grandma’s flower garden.
We finally arrive at the park. Don Andrew begins to swing. If there were 25 swings he would try them all. He does the little slides but that’s never enough. He must go down the slide of slides. Only shortly does he ride the merry-go-round. He’s already attuned to bigger and better things.
I remember a song that goes like this: Sittin’ in the morning sun, I’ll be sittin’ when the evening comes. Watchin’ the ships come in, Then I watch ‘em roll away again. Yea! I’m sittin’ on the dock of the bay watchin’ the time roll away. Ooh! I have a son who says this just has to be the most boring song of all time; seems like the dude hasn’t got much to do. But, we both love the song.
As Otis Redding sings on we see why he is there: he left Georgia to go to Firsco Bay because he got tired of trying to do what 10 people were telling him to do. 2000 miles he’s traveled just to be alone. Pretty drastic, wouldn’t you say? Some folks I know are a little more ingenious than that. Bill will be going fishing for a week on October 1. I really wouldn’t mind being there or Frisco Bay or San Diego on one of these hot West Texas afternoons. People have their way to figure out how to find a little peace and solitude a little closer to home than the song portrays. Perhaps they don’t sell as many records as O. R. does, but they are still ingenious.
I guess you’ve figured that I’ve found my own way of handling all that. I don’t like to be alone completely. In those days after he turned 3 I would pick Don Andrew up. Finally we went straight to the park. There were slides, swings, merry-go-rounds and everything else that should grab any kid’s attention. Guess what? We began a new era.
All that stuff to play on and Don Andrew looked over there on the ground and said, Look, Grandpa! A stick. About 50 sticks later and we file them all away in a safe place and go home. Of course, he had to take a tree stick with him. That’s a special kind of stick only Grandpas and Grandsons know about.
What did he do with those sticks while we were there? Well, he put one in each hand and began attacking trees, fences, and shrubs. If there had been a windmill there, it would have been in trouble. Thus was born Don Andrew, alias Don Quixote de la Mancha or vice versa.
Once he saw a cartoon to the effect, he was now Don Quixote and I was Sancho Panza. And that is not the end of the story. There are many adventures left to tell.
posted by Harold Durham at
9:08 PM
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