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Big Guy becomes working man

Submitted by on Monday, 6 April 2009 No Comment

img_2202Want to see your IQ drop and your credibility plummet quickly? Have a kid.

Within three years, you’ll find out that the rest of the world is so much smarter than you.

Big Guy’s preschool teacher knew how to put on a jacket; I didn’t. His soccer coach knew how to tie shoes, and I was incapable. Big Guy did have a point on that, but why do the strings have to be as long as the kid is tall in the first place?

And the guy who takes tickets at baseball games can keep Big Guy spell bound for two hours while I’m tempted to bind and gag him some mornings just to get him out the door on time. Big Guy will follow the ticket-taker’s instructions to the letter, while many maternal requests draw a quick but whiny “but why?”

It started as a “stretch you legs” chat at a local college game. The ticket taker, probably bored out of his skull between bursts of action, was happy to listen to Big Guy’s nonstop chatter and endless questions about what the job entailed.

A few weeks later, Big Guy declared that he has to go to the games now because he  has a “job.” Poor ticket taker. He probably had no idea that Big Guy can make infield chatter seem like an afternoon at the library.

Sunday, Big Guy was glued to the guy’s side. He learned to count tickets and hand back the right number. He learned how to deposit the torn stubs into a bin for special drawings throughout the game. He mastered the most monumental task of all, chasing foul balls and tossing them to players who came to retrieve them.

“Nice throw, buddy,” one guy said as he ranged to his right to make the catch. Big Guy beamed.

It was like that from shortly after we arrived until ticket sales ended in the seventh inning. Big Guy stayed at his station, so enthralled he didn’t even want to venture as far away as a few feet to the concession stand to purchase his once-a-week Pepsi.

He was honed in on “doing his job,” with the occasional break to scamper over to where Boots and I sat nearby to “make sure we were OK.”

Boots and I would, in turn, walk past once in a while, “just to see how business is going.”

“I can do everything  now,” Big Guy grinned. “Well, except the money.”

“You just need a little more practice with math, then  you’ll be ready for that too,” his new friend said.


If there’s a special place in heaven for adults who can stop long enough to notice the little ones looking up to them – and I believe there is – this guy has earned his wings. Or, at the least, a set of golden ear plugs for the next home game.

Copyright 2009 Debra Legg.

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