First there was little Snow White.

Big Guy met her at day care when they were 1, and they were inseparable for two years. She’d find his lost Bear for him — amazing how early men start relying on women to keep track of their stuff — and he’d kiss her goodbye as her father waited patiently each afternoon.

He moved on to Best Girl after Snow White left for another school. The two abandoned their parents that year during the Christmas pageant, running off to giggle in a corner.

And there’s always been First Love, the teen-age heart throb who captured Big Guy’s eye before he could even focus.

This time, though, it’s serious. Serious enough that Big Guy wants to follow Pinky home every afternoon — luckily, it’s not too long a detour. But have I mentioned that just last week Big Guy was griping about having to walk at all?

He’s moon-faced at the mere mention of her name. He begins his stringless puppet dance, the one he’s always used to impress the girls, the second he sees her. And he corrects me if I pronounce her name without the proper accent, eyes rolling as if to ask”why can’t Stupid Mommy get the important stuff right.”

Yes, we are in full-blown crush mode.

Pinky caught Big Guy’s eye back in the summer, when she’d walk with a kitty-cat umbrella — pink, of course — to shield her from the sun. The girl has panache, Big Guy thought. Not that he knows what panache is, and if he heard me say it he’d probably fear it’s some new food I’m trying to force on him.

Then he started insisting that we stop to chat with her as we left the cafeteria. Tuesday, Pinky and Big Guy whispered for a few minutes, and when they emerged it was obvious what the talk had been about.

“Can we go to the park?” they asked, near simultaneously. Her mother and I laughed and shrugged. Why not?

Big Guy, being Big Guy, wasn’t satisfied with a stroll. Not when there’s potential for jet propulsion. “Race you!” he challenged Pinky.

They took off, her ponytail bouncing in the sun, four legs pumping furiously. He’d gotten the drop, but she quickly pulled ahead and … beat him. I laughed as they tumbled to the ground. It’s good to see another tough girl take him out.

From then on, they were inseparable. She consented to hold hands as they climbed all over the playground that day, and he pushed her little brother in the swing — something he never would have agreed to if Little Guy had asked.

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” he shouted.

She covered her ears and shrieked. “No, ick! Don’t say that stuff!”

As we walked home two hours later, he took up his Secret Service position beside her brother’s double stroller. I tricked him into doing that when Little Guy was a baby, hoping I could convince him he was being assigned the important task of protecting his brother so he wouldn’t figure out I wanted him to hold onto the stroller to keep him in line.

He did the same thing yesterday and today. Except today he spent two blocks trying to talk her brother out of the stroller so he could sit with Pinky. “Don’t you want to walk like a big boy?” he asked every few steps. Little Brother finally gave in and took over Secret Service duties.

Pinky batted her eyes like Miss Scarlet trying to decide who would get her cake.

Little Guy and I followed dutifully behind as Big Guy attended to important socializing that didn’t concern us.

Eventually, we reach the signal light that means Pinky and her family turn one way toward their street and we turn another toward ours.

“I love you!” Big Guy shouts over the traffic.

“Ick! Don’t say that stuff!” she shrieks. But she giggles, too.

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

Similar Posts:

None Found

Popularity: 12% [?]