Child #2 and I were walking to school earlier this week. His sister had been dropped off early for choir so it was just the two of us. It's cold in Portland right now, meaning below 40 degrees, so he was wearing his little knit hat with the tassle and skipping along the sidwalk next to me.
He made me lean down so he could whisper in my ear. "I'm kind of a spy. You can't tell anyone because I'm here to keep you safe."
|This looks like a cool spy hideout!|
"What is it?"
"I don't want you to worry...," he paused and gave me a serious look, "but we have guns. The real kind. But I promise, we only use them to shoot the bad guys."
We arrived at school before the bell rang and I helped him stow his hat and coat in his locker. He hugged me good bye and whispered "Ninjago," in my ear.
"Ninjago?" I asked.
"Shh, that's the code word."
He held out his arms and said "I need an extra big kiss today." I gave him one and then left him at school to get down to the business of being in first grade.
Child #2's fantasies felt nostalgic, familiar. Maybe because they reminded me so much of the kinds of stories I used to dream up thirty some years ago.
I wonder, does this mean he's going to be a writer, or does it mean that each of us has a writer hidden inside, waiting to get out?
p.s. Please don't tell him his mother can't keep a secret!