So, Jack, Isaac, and I are in the park. Doing a practice-run Easter Egg Hunt. Between age 13 and parenthood, these peripheral holidays meant squat to me. Now I understand why stores put out holiday stuff so ridiculously early: because there are people like me, who want to buy plastic Easter eggs on February 15th. Easter seems particularly apt for wild little boys: the pagan overtones, the pull of the outside, a whiff of freedom. We're in a place in the park that the boys call the "Dut-duh-duh Dah" (imagine a sort of triumphant fanfare. The "big reveal" in a cheesy magic trick. You get the picture...). I'm not really even sure of the origin of this name, and the boys are too impatient with my dimness to fully explain, but as the name implies, it's a really nice spot in the park.
In absence of candy, I'm filling the Easter eggs with money. Mostly change, a couple of dollars. The boys are interested in money, but they never really buy anything with what I give them. They just sort of carry it around like a magic talisman. Which it kind of is.
The boys harvest their eggs, and Jack puts his spoils in his coat pocket, remarking, "I'm gonna give all this money to mom."
"Oh yeah, Jack? How come?"
Jack purses his lips and pulls his eyebrows together.
"Because she doesn't have very much."
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