You Cannot Fool Six

You are funny! He is six, with big brown eyes. I have sixty years on him. His head is thrown back, he gives a loud laugh. I am confused. “What did I say?” “You said this is a spegasor.” “It is a Stegosaurus,” I tell him. His laugh is louder now, he sounds like he is trying to win a loud-laugh-off. I am sure the meeting three doors up in the principal’s office is listening. “Shh!” I say, but I do not mean it. I say it only for the benefit of anyone walking by who might be looking in the glass wall of my office. I am glad my back is turned to this wall. I actually am thrilled, as laughter is rare for this particular child. We discuss how he lives with Grandma now. She feeds me, he tells me. “That’s great!” I say. “And she doesn’t hit me.” “Terrific,” I say. “We play and then we rest, we play, and then we rest.” “You rest from play?” A head-nod. “How do you rest from play?” “Mostly sleeping or reading books.” “Sounds great.” He nods, and we continue building our animal village. Then I decided I want to hear that terrific laugh again, so I try to be silly. Twice. He glares at me. “What are you doing?” he asks me. Even a 6-year-old knows when you are trying too hard. I pick up the Stegosaurus.