He Has Your Imagination

“This is my bus,” Davey replied as my mother and I sat on the swing with him and Henry.

“Your bus?” I asked.

“Yes, mama, my bus. It’s going to take me to Wal-Mart. I need to buy some apple sauce.”

My mother and I looked at each other exchanging questioning glances. We continued to swing as Davey sat tucked between the two of us on the bench style swing mounted in my parent’s backyard. It was all we had to do at that point since their pool had just been closed. I was unsure of what we would do at their house anymore, but Davey soon gave me no need to worry.

“Stop the bus,” Davey said.

My mother and I stretch out our legs, allowing our feet to touch the ground thus stopping the swing. Davey jumped down and asked me for some money. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the “money”, which was nothing more than air.

“Don’t forget to look both ways before crossing the street,” my mother said as Davey walked off.

We started the swing back up and watched as he walked to the edge of the concrete patio, looked both ways along the fake street before taking a left, walking around the swimming pool and to one of the concrete picnic tables. We continued to look at him as he spoke to some fictitious person at the table, before taking his applesauce and walking back over to us.

We stopped the bus and allowed Davey to climb back aboard. Over the course of the next half hour, this was how our afternoon progressed. Each stop consisted of a different store, with a different purchase, and additional money to come from me. I suppose I should get used to the asking for money part.

On one of his “stops”, my mother started talking to me.

“He has your imagination, you know?” she said as Henry nuzzled into her neck trying to steal a quick little cat nap.

“I had imagination?” I asked her.

“Oh yeah, you could create anything you wanted to when you were a child. The best part was spit cards,” she said with a laugh.

I knew that was to come up again. Apparently, spit cards were my greatest creation. They were nothing more than torn pieces of paper, which I in turn licked and stuck to the walls…spit cards!

“I hope he comes up with something like that,” she said to me as Davey climbed back aboard for another ride.

At least he has something of mine because this child is all his Daddy.

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