The other day at the playground, The Mayor and several other boys from his pre-school class drifted away from the playground and onto the baseball field. “Once there was blood we’d have to figure out something else to do,” he said. "What? Like humping each other's legs?"
I was standing on the far side of the playground with a man whose name is curiously "Cole's Dad".
The boys were pretty far away from us, but we could still see what they were doing... which was fighting.
They appeared to be ramming each other in the stomachs like four-year-old, big horned sheep.
Their sole purpose seemed to be to knock each other down.
From our vantage point, it appeared somewhat violent.
On several occasions Cole's Dad and K took steps towards the field intending to intervene but then stopped themselves.
The boys seemed completely happy. There were no tears.
In fact, whenever one of them was knocked down, the fallen one rose up to pursue enthusiastic vengeance.
“Boys will be boys,” Cole’s father shrugged.
“I guess,” I marveled.
“We used to play like that,” he said. “Boys are like dogs. We
connect with each other through physical fights.”
He looked wistful remembering his boyhood.
“It was always fun until blood was drawn.”
I glanced nervously over at the field.
[And after saying this to Cole's Dad, whom I hardly know, I buried my head and my big, fat mouth in sand.]
“Once there was blood we’d have to figure out something else to do,” he said.
"What? Like humping each other's legs?"