GREAT!

Don Andrew finally turned four years of age on Sunday. On Saturday the entire group, along with lots of friends, had a birthday party that couldn’t be beat. Grandma Sancha and this old laborer didn’t arrive until Sunday evening very late.

That wonderful grandma and I had a marvelous idea. We would keep Don Andrew and Don Matthew (he’ll be one year old on Friday) home from that daycare holding facility for children who aren’t old enough to attend institutions of formal learning. Boy, were we in for a treat.

Don Andrew has developed a few new expressions. One is to exclaim, Great! He’ll do that quite loudly at times. We went to Grumps for lunch. It was quite exciting but Grandma Sancha forgot the diaper bag with Don Matthew's baby food. Don Andrew heard about that and said, Great! Of course, that was a bit sarcastic at best.

We were ready to leave Grumps and Grandma Sancha was driving and in a bind. Cars were coming down the highway we had to get that Suburban Wagon out on to return home. She got the left front wheel in a hole and kind of squealed the tires getting out and on the highway when there was a break in traffic. Upon hearing the squealing tires, Don Andrew said, Great!

Something else happened earlier that morning that was quite funny but at the same time designed from the beginning to get this old knight’s squire in trouble. Don Andrew and his faithful squire were playing baseball and our young jouster swung the bat and knocked the ball clear out of the yard, which, of course, he wasn’t supposed to even be hitting the ball in that particular direction.

There is a very small creek behind their yard and the ball went right over that creek. Don Andrew squared off, wearing his Sketchers. He prepared to make his very best Benny the Jet run, then ran down the hill, and jumped right over that creek. Wow!

Don Andrew next retrieved the ball and tried to throw it side armed and it landed on the same side of the creek again. No progress. Once more he gave it his best try and it landed right in the middle of the creek. You can probably guess his next move. Once again he squared off in his Benny stance, ran down the hill and jumped right smack in the middle of that creek. Sketchers are much more expensive than P F Flyers used to be.

Of course, the minute he hit the middle of the creek, he looked up at his befuddled old grandpa and said, Great! What could this old crippled traveler say but, Great! I really don’t think Grandma Sancha and Doña Duchess found the situation all that great! Grandpa Sancho got a pretty big kick out of the whole thing.

NEARLY 4!

Have you noticed as I pen this modern epic masterpiece from time-to-time that the main character is 3½ years of age? Are you getting tired of him being 3½? I’m not tired of it at all but as this old share cropper becomes older and older it becomes obvious that even 3½ year old kids must turn 4 sometime. That is a very important part of living on this planet.

Guess what? Don Andrew turns 4 this month. What are the ancient one’s fears as he grows older? Don’t they center on the loss of innocence or whatever it is that is so absolutely neat about 3½ year old kids? What if Don Andrew decides he is too big to fight windmills and bushes and lamp posts and trees with Grandpa Sancho? What if we must give all that up for bigger boy things?

He already likes Benny the Jet Rodriquez and baseball. But that’s not so bad because that fits right in with fighting windmills, etc., right now. That can still be little boy stuff. Of course, to be downright honest I must admit I want to still be around to watch him play baseball and whatever else he chooses. I want to do that for all my grandkids.

This befuddled old laborer has raised so many questions it makes his head swim. I think everything is going to be okay for awhile. This laborer was talking with Doña Duchess just the other day and was told that Don Andrew was drinky or drinkie. How do you spell that? What does it mean? Well, it seems that this is the modern day kid word for being thirsty. Then on another day I was talking with the Duchess when something else happened. Don Andrew was picking Don Matthew’s nose. He didn’t stop right away. I told Doña Duchess, There must be only one thing nearly as good as a kid picking his own nose and that would be picking his little brother’s nose.

What else could be said at a time like that? And I ceased to be so befuddled. With those last two incidents, Don Andrew will probably be ready to take sword in hand and fight windmills, bushes, trees, and lamp posts for some time to come. What do you think? I will rest this old brain for awhile.