You’ve got to love a kid who is so self-assured that he doesn’t even pretend he’s not looking into your home when he knocks on the door. Instead, this particular child knocks assertively, then stares through the window while waving at me.
He’s our neighborhood prodigy. He’s famous around here. Prodigy possesses a Dennis the Menace brand of charm and imagination that frequently leaves us simultaneously smiling and shaking our heads.
I’m convinced the person who designed our living room furniture is a spiteful soul. Regardless of how hard you press the little button that operates the footrest, it lowers at a sloth-like pace, frequently pushing bladders to their near limit. The button, I believe, is in my life to test my patience, not unlike the child at the door.
I feel him watching me as I continue pressing the blasted button. Eventually, the footrest lowers to a point allowing my escape from the sofa to see what the little guy wants.
I open the door only partially to find Prodigy standing in the cold drizzle. He’s sporting a sharp looking puffy blue and black winter jacket that I figure must be fairly water resistant. He certainly looked comfortable. But then, Prodigy is always comfortable. His dark eyes peer at me from within the depths of his oversized hood. I haven’t had an opportunity to say a word when he speaks with all the seriousness and authority of the governor.
“Four things,” he says. He holds up his fingers to accentuate his points. “One – I’m not a solicitor.”
Clearly, the footrest delay provided him adequate time to prepare a speech.
“Two – I’m a traveling salesman. Three – would you like some tea? Four – it’s only a dime.”
He flashes a smile that would melt even Mr. Wilson’s heart. It’s then I notice he has set up shop on our front porch. A small metal tea pot rests precariously on the porch railing. Balanced beside the pot is a shallow wooden box overstuffed with tea bags. I briefly imagine his mother’s face when she realizes he’s absconded with all the tea bags in the house. I smile to myself but have to decline his offer.
“No, I’m sorry” I say, “we have COVID, so I’m not going to open the door any wider. But I hope you have better luck at the next house.”
Disappointment brushes across his face for less than an instant before he understands I’m not really rejecting his sales pitch. He knows I’m protecting him by not engaging with him further. He’s already gathering his wares as I finish speaking. Prodigy bounces down the front steps eyeing his next target, the house across the street.
“You’re welcome!” he calls back over his shoulder even though I haven’t thanked him.
I grin as I close the door, realizing that the winter weather will bring no reprieve from the lessons in patience and the adventures of Prodigy.
