The Boy and the Dump Truck

As I was picking the kids up from school today, there was a huge dump truck in the park beside the school. I mean really huge. It was dumping red dirt on the baseball diamond. I was fascinated watching it through my rear view mirror as I sat in the line of cars. I found it odd that I was so captivated by this great, big red-dirt dumping truck and the kids walking past on their way home from school didn’t even seem to notice it. They walked, in their groups of friends, talking, playing, laughing, oblivious to the dump truck. I thought, “What’s the matter with these kids? Aren’t kids supposed to be drawn to stuff like this? Have children lost their sense of wonder?”

And then, the boy I was waiting for came into view. A slightly chubby, red-headed, round-faced, hair-cut-in-a-bowl-shape, nine or ten year old boy, wearing a puffy, black jacket that was too big for him and pulling his backpack on the ground behind him. At first, he was walking with his eyes to the ground, dragging his feet a little, looking like the long day at school had really taken its toll on him. Then, he noticed my dump truck. I watched the world fade away from his view. All he saw was that dump truck. He stopped, dead in his tracks, dropped the back pack on the ground beside him and watched in awe as the red dirt poured down. He was totally transfixed. His mouth was wide open and slowly, a smile of delight spread over his entire face. When he remembered that there were other people around, he started looking at everyone with a look of disbelief on his face. “Don’t you guys see that?” the look on his face said very clearly. He kept looking between the other kids and the dump truck, turning his whole body back and forth, with his arms flying and a look of glee on his face. It seemed that the long day at school was already ancient history.

It was great. Kind of made me wish I had a boy.