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We lounged around the kitchen table of the Rhonda Lou, my neighbors and I. There
were the women, my husband, and one little boy guest.
As Oklahomans often do after several days or weeks of blizzard conditions we
often languish about like someone who is in a psychological “let down” lethargic
state much like warriors of old who came through victors of this or that battle.
Soft music, equally soft lighting, tid-bits to nibble and sweet conversation converted
our hill house to a refuge of sorts where we relished a bit of freedom from the cares
of life to be held at arm length just long enough for us to catch our breath.
In the living room within easy view was the five year old boy. I’m always
interested in what little boys are doing so I had my attention on him. Maurice Chevalier
sang the song, “Thank Heavens for Little Girls,”
I, on the other hand, have a song in my heart for little boys,
who do not have to grow up to be a delight. Their curiosity is ageless and they are owned by
no one. They seem to be born with the skills to develop as men, who go on to any place of life
and success.
To make a point of interest for him because I knew he would be with his mother we had gone
out to Wal mart the night before where I picked up a sack of sea shells. Inside a large globe
like vase, bigger than a basket ball, there was a plant whose roots were being coaxed to grow.
Around the roots and in the water I placed the shells of all kinds and descriptions so that they
were in their own global paradise.
At first, for some reason, my youngest guest had not consciously noticed the globe in the middle
of the large old oak, round, coffee table. As children have done for generations, eventually
they find a place to sit around the piece of a family heirloom tough enough to have survived many little ones before him. This brought him eye level with the object d’art.
His back straightened, his neck stiffened, and he jutted his head forward to zone in on the globe. Slowly, ever so slowly, he edged his way half way around the table so he could see the various
shells. In a quick movement he turned his attention to me and saw that I was watching him.
With an attitude of studied nonchalance he pretended to not be interested, but kept his attention
on me.
He didn’t know I knew about little boys from the time I had six brothers and one adopted brother.
So, I played the game with him. I also took a position of disinterest. Within only a short while,
as he believed I wasn’t watching, he had his hands in the bowl of water and was pulling out shell
after shell to hold them up, study the shell and then place it on the table beside the bowl.
Today I watched Wayne Rogers was on the View being interviewed by all those women. I never
watch that show, but as I flipped through the channels I saw Mr. Rogers standing there.
Trapper John on Mash was always so much fun I wanted to hear what he was saying.
“What is your secret to being a successful entrepreneur?” One of them asked.
“Well, actually,” he replied, without a moments hesitation, “I believe it is my constant curiosity.
I always want to know about anything new and different.”
One of the women asked him a personal question. He was as much fun as when he had
been Trapper John on Mash and came back with an answer to remind me of the neighbor’s
little boy the night before as he pulled sea shell after sea shell from the globe like vase. Such
a small pleasure, but these are the things to bring little boys up to a man’s status. I’ve watched
it happen in so many ways and I never tire of seeing the workings of a boys mind and often
equally as pleasured by the successful man’s mind, who seems to be ever a little boy, forever curious about the world around them.
I once said to Rodney, my husband, “curiosity killed the cat!”
“But satisfaction brought it back!” He grinned.
were the women, my husband, and one little boy guest.
As Oklahomans often do after several days or weeks of blizzard conditions we
often languish about like someone who is in a psychological “let down” lethargic
state much like warriors of old who came through victors of this or that battle.
Soft music, equally soft lighting, tid-bits to nibble and sweet conversation converted
our hill house to a refuge of sorts where we relished a bit of freedom from the cares
of life to be held at arm length just long enough for us to catch our breath.
In the living room within easy view was the five year old boy. I’m always
interested in what little boys are doing so I had my attention on him. Maurice Chevalier
sang the song, “Thank Heavens for Little Girls,”
I, on the other hand, have a song in my heart for little boys,
who do not have to grow up to be a delight. Their curiosity is ageless and they are owned by
no one. They seem to be born with the skills to develop as men, who go on to any place of life
and success.
To make a point of interest for him because I knew he would be with his mother we had gone
out to Wal mart the night before where I picked up a sack of sea shells. Inside a large globe
like vase, bigger than a basket ball, there was a plant whose roots were being coaxed to grow.
Around the roots and in the water I placed the shells of all kinds and descriptions so that they
were in their own global paradise.
At first, for some reason, my youngest guest had not consciously noticed the globe in the middle
of the large old oak, round, coffee table. As children have done for generations, eventually
they find a place to sit around the piece of a family heirloom tough enough to have survived many little ones before him. This brought him eye level with the object d’art.
His back straightened, his neck stiffened, and he jutted his head forward to zone in on the globe. Slowly, ever so slowly, he edged his way half way around the table so he could see the various
shells. In a quick movement he turned his attention to me and saw that I was watching him.
With an attitude of studied nonchalance he pretended to not be interested, but kept his attention
on me.
He didn’t know I knew about little boys from the time I had six brothers and one adopted brother.
So, I played the game with him. I also took a position of disinterest. Within only a short while,
as he believed I wasn’t watching, he had his hands in the bowl of water and was pulling out shell
after shell to hold them up, study the shell and then place it on the table beside the bowl.
Today I watched Wayne Rogers was on the View being interviewed by all those women. I never
watch that show, but as I flipped through the channels I saw Mr. Rogers standing there.
Trapper John on Mash was always so much fun I wanted to hear what he was saying.
“What is your secret to being a successful entrepreneur?” One of them asked.
“Well, actually,” he replied, without a moments hesitation, “I believe it is my constant curiosity.
I always want to know about anything new and different.”
One of the women asked him a personal question. He was as much fun as when he had
been Trapper John on Mash and came back with an answer to remind me of the neighbor’s
little boy the night before as he pulled sea shell after sea shell from the globe like vase. Such
a small pleasure, but these are the things to bring little boys up to a man’s status. I’ve watched
it happen in so many ways and I never tire of seeing the workings of a boys mind and often
equally as pleasured by the successful man’s mind, who seems to be ever a little boy, forever curious about the world around them.
I once said to Rodney, my husband, “curiosity killed the cat!”
“But satisfaction brought it back!” He grinned.