Spit on You
Sometimes, I want to be a kid again. Really. With all of the inhibitions removed and the lack of self-consciousness, it would be a brilliant ride as an adult.
Once, I sat with the sun streaming on me through the glass of a bus stop and watched two little girls who were barely two feet tall. They stood opposite each other, one without any props, and the other with her lavender backpack. With stern gravity, they assumed the positions of sumo wrestlers, one facing the other in uber-serious threat mode, lobbing feet back and forth in an absolutely funny pose fest.
These little girls faced off eye-to-eye as they lifted first one leg and then the other. In turn, they spat upon the ground and took their metallic floral sandals and tried to stomp out the spit bubbles, giggling like banshees as they splatted each others’ wet creations on the sidewalk.
As we watched, they started spitting on each other in an effort to win whatever battle they had drawn up in their minds as they passed time awaiting the Golden Gate bus with the green and gold stripe down the length. One corn-rowed girl spat upon the other, running around the shelter crying, “That’s what you get. I spit on you. That’s what you get……” all two feet of her total unselfconscious wonder on display for the world to watch.
I wish I could be two feet tall again, without inhibition, gleefully running around the sunlit sidewalk spitting on people who laughed with me in return. If I could skip my teens and twenties, it would be something to be given that freedom of expression once in a while.
How do you act like a child sometimes, Dear Reader?