December 04, 2003


The scene: a pristine, beautiful beach. The craggy, rocky kind, not the soft sandy kind. The players: Damian, age five. Dan, a/k/a Daddy.

The players walk, run and play. Damian stops. “Daddy, I have a pebble in my shoe. My right shoe.”

Damian sits on a rock. Dan exhumes the pebble, replaces the sneaker (the kind that lights up as you walk, with periodic red flashes).

They continue on their way. Until Damian stops again. “Daddy, I have a pebble in my other shoe now. I had one in my right shoe already so now it’s the left one’s turn.”

Dan: “The pebbles were smart to know which shoe to jump into next.”

Damian: “If the pebbles are smart, they must have brains. If they have brains, they must be alive. If they’re alive, they must have arms and legs. And,” almost an afterthought, “they probably get upset and say ‘ouch!’ when we step on them.”

Makes you think twice about going for a stroll along the beach in your spiky-treaded army boots, doesn’t it?

Posted by Tamar at December 4, 2003 07:30 PM