I was sitting around watching the end of the 1 O’clock football game rooting against the Jets with all sorts of stuff swirling.  Some fun, some frustrating but accepted, some painfully uncertain.  Shuffling in between those things as the natural light fades in this seemingly lost weekend, I was all set to tee off on various rant subjects.  I want to write as an outlet, but just not in a ranting mood.  But I was trying as an exercise.  Forcing myself to write creatively to take a break.

And the doorbell rang.  Likely someone looking for my daughter at her mother’s until Tuesday night, I thought.

I look out the door window, and cannot see anyone.  Upon closer review, I see a Cub Scout hat atop a diminutive little head.

“Oh yeah,” I think.  “I ordered some popcorn!”

I open the door.  The kid nervously looks up, thrusting forward with nary a word the microwave popcorn box I ordered weeks ago.

“Ah!” I say animatedly, “Perfect!  I was wondering what I was going to eat while watching the Patriots tonight.”  (It was a lie.  I avoid microwave popcorn and the oils like the plague.  This was a mercy purchase because I just cannot say no to kids going door-to-door knowing how difficult it is for them to do it.  I bought the popcorn figuring my daughter will consume it in after school grazing while getting bleary-eyed on Facebook.)

And as I am looking down at the kid, I hear a deep laugh and a parroting of my “Ah” in return.

It’s the boy’s dad, further off in the apartment complex parking lot.  Other small children swirl around him while he has his foot on a plastic wagon holding the various products, checking his list and tracking who is giving what to whom.

We exchange smiling glances.  I give a thumbs up and  a knowing look.  He smiles, nods, and returns the thumbs up.  "Been there, done that, and appreciate seeing others doing it" was the sent and received mention in that quick exchange.  I remember sitting on the steps with the boy as he went through the purchase options with his dad in the distance offering tips and pointers however many weeks ago.  Dad volunteered the mercy purchase information, and I complied.  Again, we each got it then as we do now.

I look back at the little boy and ask if I owe him any money.  He shakes his head no, standing there not knowing what to do next.

“Well thank you!” I say animatedly as I thrust out my hand to shake his.

He nervously juts out his left hand. We stutter step a moment, and I giggle as he figures out his left hand and my right hand won’t get it done.  Out comes his right.  I give it a good shake, he turns and heads back to dad and the cart to continue the distribution, and I close the door smiling and giggling with all sorts of fond memories in my head.

Not so much about the details.  Just the innocence and openness of those critters post diaper through to adolescence.  It’s a great age.  They’re fun.

So I sat back down at the keyboard but 20 minutes ago, hit “Control A,” hit “delete” and thought “What Rant?”

Interacting with that little boy just made my day. 

Oh how I love little kids in the glory of their innocence.