Sunday scribbling 8 Oct. 2006

A short essay written by my Dad some time before 1978. This is for the assignment re; people watching for Sunday Scribbling.

Countdown

A young lad eight or ten years of age, sturdy and handsome, stopped his bike across from my porch the other day on his way out of the park. Still straddling the crossbar, he planted his feet solidly, looked straight ahead and stated his case.

"I'm gonna count to ten," he hollered, "then I'm goin' home."

He didn't seem to be talking to me, so I didn't answer. He counted in a loud voice, conscientiously, not stopping at ten but giving whoever he was shouting to the benefit of the doubt by continuing to twenty. He waited , silently, then hollered again.

" I'm goin' home."

He said someone's name, too, but I couldn't make it out. There was no one in the street as far as I could see, but then I realized he was orating for the benefit of some kids in the park playground, which was almost a block behind him.

Threatening to go home three or four more times without moving a wheel, he started counting again. I watched the group of kids in the playground but they didn't seem to be aware of his existence. All of this time he never turned around.

Two neighborhood dogs came over to investigate and get in on the action, so the lad got off his bike and rolled in the grass while they licked his face, but he soon remembered his wheel and started the countdown again. This time there was a note of desperation. Still no response.

Finally he rode away, leaving a trail of invisible tears.

Robert Ernest LaRock (1920 - 1978)