“Stop looking at me.”
I look away, but then I look back five seconds later. Three-year-old Sara is still sitting there, arms crossed, grumpy face, hunched shoulders, angry. Angry at me. I have just told her she can not watch Bumby Stumbles on TV.
I had to, because her parents do not approve of it and have told me she can’t watch it. Of course, I had to watch it myself as soon as I was told Sara couldn’t, you know, so I could see what the enemy looked like. I thought it was a hoot! But that’s another story...
“You’re looking at me again!” she grumps.
“Well, I’ve seen everything else in this room a zillion times and the only things that change are the papers and the crumpled up tissues, and you, so... I got bored. I looked back to see if you had learned to fly.”
That got her attention. Her arms loosened, just a tad, and a questioning look crept into that angry face. “Learned to fly?” she asks.
“You always say you’re flying when we swing on the swings at Kelly Park. We haven’t been there in so long, I thought maybe you learned to fly without the swing. Did you?’
“No,” her body relaxes, she grins a bit at the stupid assumption.
“Huh, well, how about we go see if the swings still work? You’ll need a jacket!”
She’s running for her jacket, Bumby Stumbles forgotten for the moment. I know he’ll be back. Maybe I can watch a few more, and talk to her parents. He may not be educational but he sure is funny. I mean, you can’t be learning every minute, can you?
Grandparenthood can certainly be confusing when you grew up with Howdy Doody and Bozo the clown...