Apparently there is a weaponry near our house. To be more precise, it's on the left side of our garage. It consists of a large rock. And two trash cans. This is where my brother sits to collect and sharpen his weapons.
...
Should I be worried?
No. Because he sells his masterpieces to me when he's done. It's this game we play. He names each rock after its sharpening, names like "Triple Blade" and "Killer". I ask him why he names them so (is dangerously the word?). Because this one slices through your neck, he replies calmly. Of course. I should have known this.
After all, I was a tomboy growing up. I played as hard as I could just to come home at the end of every day with an accomplished dirt ring around my neck.
It's just funny. Last night I spent some time looking at some of the goofy things my Uncle bought off me as a little girl. Pieces of paper, folded like squares, colored in sloppy designs with the intricacies of little girl hands. McDonalds toys, still in the clear plastic wrapper. Crayons. Begging someone to let me clean their shoes (a dollar per shoe, mind you). I was quite the little sales person.
It's neat seeing Gavin take up where I left off, one killerdangerous weapon at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment