jude, the conversationalist

as i was unloading the car outside of my office, jude saw a little boy sitting down on a bench on the sidewalk and went over and sat next to him. i heard their whole conversation. i’m embellishing nothing.

jude: hi i’m jude. i’m a boy. i’m going to be five in september twenty-eight, when the leaves change color. what’s your name?

(i don’t hear the boy’s name, but i think he says philip. he’s very soft spoken, speaks well enough, and is about the same age as jude.)

jude starts prattling on about his cousins. their names, what they do when they play together, and that they are not his brother or sister, but his cousins, though they say they are brother and sister anyway. then jude says:

i speak spanish. what do you speak?

boy: english and french.

jude: yeah but i speak spanish. i can’t speak in english, just spanish. your sandals are just like my cousin ryder’s. i like your shirt.

boy: thanks.

jude: it’s a white shirt with a polar bear on it.

boy: i like your shirt, too.

jude: i’m going to be a doctor when i grow up. what are you doing to be?

boy: uhm. nothing. i don’t know.

(at this point i break in and tell jude we need to get going.) jude says:

well, see you later. have a nice day.

the boy says, bye.

we both smile and wave and head into the office with our armload of files and bags. jude has a fresh hair cut that sticks up on top and makes his head look like a little pineapple.


1 Comment

  1. Someday when Jude is 22 and you can’t even remember that he was ever five…you will read this and smile once more. When my son was four we were walking down the street on a sunny day and he turned and asked ‘why are our shadows attached to our feet?” I still remember.


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