making new friends

HI-larious! Seriously funny. A few days ago we took D to a park area that had the latest craze in childhood: a multi-head fountain which spewed water from the concrete into the air for kids young and old to frolic. And frolic they do...except we've noticed that historically little boys "frolic" combat style doing kicks and punches into the jet streams and jostling each other for the highest parts of the spray. Poor D's been watching from the sidelines for months now since the concrete base and wild-bangee-atmosphere are not "crawler-friendly"zones. But with his new legs under him he's been b-lining to these fountain areas at every park we visit.

So alas, we decided this time to slowly, gently, guide him to the outer circle of the "fountain of terror" as I like to call it. I called dibs on the sidelines and so B was left with the daunting task of helping D maneuver around the area but not necessarily enter it since the day's heat had made the crowd large and rambunctious. I watched, tense but trying to give the appearance of relaxed. The boys circled and D squealed every time a few drops of nearby spray found his face or hands. I could tell he kept leaning in, trying to pull 6'4 B into the epicenter. B held on tightly, with big-man resolve to not let D go in any further. Finally after a few laps, a young feller a bit larger than D but at least within a few inches, exited the crazy zone for a breather. He had on shorts and no shirt and stood to the side dripping wet.

As fate would have it, he had unknowingly chosen a rest stop right off of D's interstate. Seeing it would take just a slight veer to pull B off the highway, D shifted his weight forward, dug in with the tiny treads on his sandals and managed to somehow get loose. I wish I could describe his face. It was pure delight. Pride even. He teetered and tottered and shuffled as fast as his little legs could take him in a serpentine fashion until he got within an arms length of the resting little boy. Without even a hesitation, D walked right up to him and slapped his pudgy little hand on the center of the boy's unclothed belly and left it there. I couldn't exactly tell from where I sat but I believe he even rubbed it in a circular motion. The young boy stood stunned and appalled for much longer than I thought possible or prudent. I simultaneously laughed and tried to beckon for B's intervention.

The young boy's father, a large man, stood just a few steps a way and looked amused but also confused. Evidently this wasn't your normal secret handshake. D had gotten the wrong memo and thought a good "buddha-belly-rub" was the way into the little-boy-at-the-fountain-of-terror handshake. The boy started to move away from D's hand and D just smiled and followed, undeterred. The way he saw it, the little boy just hadn't received the right memo. B finally took one large step in and swooped D before things could get any weirder. We laughed the entire way home.