We finished with a hike and were sitting outside enjoying cold treats. Baby Brother had a push-up pop, Little Legs had an ice-cream cookie sandwich, and I had a sensible fruit popsicle.
“Let me have a bite,” Little Legs said.
“Let me have a bite,” Baby Brother said.
“No way,” I teased already knowing that I was about to lose at least half of my popsicle.
“Give me a bite of yours and you can have a bite of mine,” I offered.
The deals were accepted. I got a nibble of a cookie and a slurp of the push-up pop and they both took giant bites of the quickly disappearing strawberry popsicle.
“Hey,” I said.
They laughed and returned to work on their own treats.
Baby Brother was wiping away his orange sherbet goatee and his brother started to whirl around, powered by sugar, when an old blue car rolled past us.
The back windows were filled with boxes, blankets, clothes, hats and old food containers. A beast dog with an enormous mouth and sagging jowls sat in the passenger seat while a scruffy looking guy steered the car to the edge of the lot.
I watched the man step out of the car and his dog haphazardly followed, sniffing and peeing every few steps. The man lit a cigarette and held it between his fingers.
“C’mon,” he said over his shoulder, not paying attention to Beast-dog, that was romping through the curated garden of early Spring flowers.
I grabbed my still-spinning son and pulled him closer. Baby Brother was still at the table, pushing the push-up pop with all his might. If you ask him to show you his muscles, he will point to his elbow, which is obviously where strong boys keep their strength hidden away. Elbow power for the win.
I was preparing for a few different scenarios. The first thing that came to my mind was that Beast-dog got away from his unconcerned owner and attacked one of the boys. The next thing was that the dog’s owner did some lewd act or asked for something. The absolute last possibility was what actually happened.
Baby Brother locked eyes with the man.
“Hi,” Baby Brother said with a wave.
“Hey, small dude,” the man replied.
“You want some?” Baby Brother asked, offering his push-up pop and all the genuine kindness of a two-year-old.
The man stopped and considered the offer with all the seriousness of an adult man who was just offered a mostly eaten push-up pop.
“Nah, you eat it,” he said.
“We don’t talk to strangers,” Little Legs whispered.
“I know, buddy, it’s confusing, Baby Brother is still learning.”
And I really have no clear way to explain it. We don’t talk to strangers, but sometimes we do. And we shouldn’t judge others by how they dress or present themselves, but sometimes we do. There are so many exceptions to these rules of how to stay safe and be a good person.
I don’t want to crush that sweet spirit of sharing and caring, but more than that, I don’t want my son sharing ice-cream with a homeless guy at the park. So, I guess that’s the starting point for our conversation.