The day was a productive one, probably because it began with a fight. I went to the movies last night with my brother and saw "The Dark Knight," which my wife wanted to see. Although I will definitely go see it again, planned on it the whole time, she felt neglected and I'll need to apologize tonight.
Anyway, the day was full of errands, checking things off my "Honey-do-list," and getting the lawn mowed, the house straightened. In the evening I was restless, tonight being the night my wife goes to her glass class. So, I called a friend, my mother, trying to find someone to dine with...no luck. I took Shea to my work and had a Cobb salad, something I have been craving for a while. Afterward, my mother called and asked to meet me and Shea at a local park.
The evening was warm and the sun low on the horizon when we met at the curb of the park. There were multiple Hispanic families in the park, their children playing on the various play structures, slides, and swings. We got Shea to the portion of the playground for 2-5-year-olds and let her loose. The Hispanic kids seemed almost amazed to find a Caucasian child at their playground. They stared and one boy even pointed.
Shea was reluctant at first, wanting to hold my hand, standing at the edge of the play structure but the little boy, Tercer, kept coming back to her. He was a two year old with close-cropped hair and a runny nose. He would make sure he beat Shea up stairs and down slides. He never stopped moving. His father, a robust Hispanic man with limited English, kept grabbing him and pulling him away, smiling apologetically.
"Esta bien," I said, trying to let him know that we liked the idea of Tercer playing with Shea. He looked at me as if I was a typical white man with four or five words of Spanish under my belt.
"Cuantos anos tiene?" I asked, trying to figure the boys age.
"Dos," the man said.
"Uno y seis meses," I replied, pointing at Shea. The man seemed to relax a little, looking at me quizzically, wondering where the gringo with the Spanish came from.
Tercer was unstoppable and his curiosity about Shea brought him back to her time and again. His father kept returning, looking at us with those same eyes of apology. I began speaking to him in Spanish about how active Tercer was, how handsome, even telling Tercer that it was okay to go first down the slide, before Shea sat down. The father smiled at me and he talked with me a little more.
Shea, upon seeing Tercer was friendly and just another child, was getting bolder and bolder. She climbed the stairs to slide down the slide by herself. She almost climbed all the way back up the slide, which is a big deal for her. She's been in physical therapy for her hand and her feet and it was amazing to watch her hold the sides of the slide in her hands and walk herself back up the incline. She is getting so strong.
When I was about to ask my mother for a tissue, to wipe Tercer's nose, his father returned and collected him, his wife, who had been relaxing at a nearby picnic table, stood with a stroller nearby and two older girls at her side. I began to wonder about the gender politics that might be taking place here on the playground, with Tercer and his father, with me and Shea occupying their same ground, but before I got too far down that road the father said, "Buenas Noches," and smiled at me with real kindness in his eyes.
"Buenas noches," I called after him.
My mother was watching me, her mouth agape, "I forgot you spoke Spanish that well."
A nice night of introductions and surprises for all, I guess.
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