Learning To Spit

What can you do with all those seeds, slick, black missiles that blaze a path down your throat, when what you want is to taste the sweetness that surrounds them? You collect them, as if they're treasure, and curious grandchildren follow, eager to play, sure of victory. I spat those flat torpedoes beyond the range of their imagination, and they, in slack-jawed wonder at my dubious talent, took turns spitting and measuring, each determined to beat my record. I dispensed seeds as lips pursed, tongues pushed, seeds flew and the air rang with spitting sounds. Grandpa shook his head, laughing at our nonsense. The game continued, dishes stacked unwashed, pride built, skills increased and seeds diminished. But watermelon seeds' primary purpose is not to be denied. Lush vines sprang up in flowerbeds, dwarfed petunias and snapdragons and produced huge, sweet melons, replete with slick, black pips.