Charlie

Charlie, my ten-year-old grandson, is at our house today. He sits on the couch playing with a Mr. Potato Head arm and the leg of a Lego action figure. He’s got them dancing around and he is making fighting noises with his mouth. “Oof” like someone just got punched in the stomach. “Shwee, shwee” like the sound of swords slicing the wind. Charlie has been doing this since he was a baby. You never had to worry about keeping him occupied. Give him a straw and a crumpled up napkin and he was happy.
“What are you doing?”  I ask.
“Just playing,” he says.
“What is happening with those two things?”
He tells me, “This is a guy’s leg and this is his arm.”
“Can you see the rest of the body?”
“Yeah,” Charlie says.
I watch him twist and turn the two pieces around. “Gosh. That guy is really flexible!”
“Cool, huh!”
“Unbelievably so,” I say. I need to get back to yoga.

Later I hear Charlie say, “Saying you are sorry is good, but changing is better.”