Sunday Afternoon in Wisconsin

Sunday afternoon, I am out for a walk with two kids strapped into the double jogging stroller and one tagging along behind as slow as she possibly can manage without letting an intersection seperate herself from the rest of us (she knows she can’t cross the street by herself). We tromp along through a residential area, enjoying the beautiful fall trees. Eventually we approach a normal sized house. In the backyard, which is not fenced in and visible from the street are three boys aged approximately nine, I would guess.

Each boy is clad in a Greenbay Packers jersey, the different numbers of which I am sure represent some overpaid burly hero who I haven’t heard of. Football is not my thing.

One of the boys is a little stocky, a little burly, but not overly so. Apparently he knows quite a bit about the rugged sport, or at least thinks he does. He’s giving astute football advice to his friend, who, I kid you not, looks EXACTLY like the stereotypical geek from a child’s sports movie. The friend is skinny as a rail. His jeans are a little too short. His jersey is incredibly baggy. His limbs flail about. His hair is messed up. He has a runny nose, and wears thick, thick big glasses. His voice is high and squeaky.

Stocky Boy: So we run here and then we throw the ball over here like this and then you catch it and I tackle you to the ground.

Squeaky Friend: (pause). Wait a minute! Wait a MINute! You can’t tackle me! Your’e HUGE! HUGE! (To prove the point, he stretches his arms out just to show how huge his counterpart really is).

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I was walking along the sidewalk as slowly as I could and ended up having to pass by the house and away from hearing range, but oh, did I laugh and laugh. Ms. Crazy Preschooler kept asking what was so funny. I just thought it was so hilarious.