Click: true moments, collected over the years. Stories too short for the stage.
Sunday afternoon at the park.
The water in the giant wading pool is clear and clean and cold as ice. And children are twirling.
Children are giggling, splashing each other, as their parents loll like cats on the grass. Or lean towards each other on the bench, trading stories. Trading secrets.
But off in the corner are a man and a woman staring fixedly a table. Wait, I’m wrong. They’re staring at – is it a television?
SORRY, DID THEY BRING A TELEVISION TO THE PARK?
And I guess this is better than saying, “No, no, we’re not going to the park today. Mommy has to watch the World Cup.”
“We’re not going to the park today sweetheart, Daddy would regret not seeing this game on his DEATHBED.”
As you twirl and splash in the cold clear water. Watching your parents’ backs.
And then a woman gets up from her bench and drifts over to the television and when the couple doesn’t mind, one by one the parents migrate to that small screen and then the children climb out of the wading pool to find out what the fuss is all about.
And stories, and secrets, and giggles fall silent.
Until the only sound is water sloshing in the empty wading pool and tinny cheering.
Parents and children staring blankly at the television screen, and it’s like watching the eighties begin all over again.
Sidewalks and parks abandoned for a blank stare at Atari games, at cable television, at the Betamax, until everyone was safely inside. And the outdoors was something you experienced at recess.
From 10:15 to 10:30 when the bell rang.
Or the thunder rumbles.
Which it does. And the spell is broken.
And the rain buckets down as the couple runs, television in arms to their minivan, the children squeal and the parents scoop them up, laughing, and it is, once again – Sunday.
At the park.
Musings and overheards are posted every Monday and Wednesday on tyrtle.com.