We’re at our local health food store, where the shelves are stocked with manchego cheese, cans of salt-free black beans, and teas from England. It’s a place where you really want to hang out, because there is stuff in there you haven’t seen before. Promise.
I’m standing in front of the deli case, trying to decide between chicken salad with cashews and green onions or cooled asparagus and raspberries in vinaigrette. In comes my friend, Leslie, and her son, Kyle, who is less than two years old. Leslie and Dan are brilliant, creative people both, with hard-core jobs, in nursing and computers. Kyle, their number one son, is tiny, which makes his intelligence so imposing and amusing
My mythology is this: that you need to get down to kid level to really hear what they are saying. So I squat down in front of the counter. So does Kyle, And we carry on an adult conversation on our haunches—about dinosaurs.
Are you a little nervous about t-rexes?
No.
Why not?
‘Cause they dead.
No.
Do you want to say Pachycephalosaurus?
No.
Do you like to learn about dinosaurs?
Yeah.
Which kind of dinosaur would you like to be?
A Velociraptor.
Why?
They in the movies.
Yes, yes, they are.
It’s time to move a bit. There are eight or ten adults in line, and we’re holding up the
works. I get up, so does he. He’s the kid you take seriously. I smile. He grins.
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