“Hey Charles, look at this snowball. It’s JUMONGUS!” Terry said to me. (He still calls me by my first name because we haven’t adopted him and his older brother yet). It indeed was a big snowball. Big yes, perhaps for his size, but he definitely embellished slightly.
Now a “JUMONGUS” snowball is one thing, but a “JUMONGUS” snowball in a seven year old’s hands is a different matter entirely. To me, this snowball was just a piece of art meant to be left alone, admired, then left where it was. To him it was a missile, a rocket, a baseball; something that definitely should not be left where it was.
Before I could gather any thoughts, I turn to see what he wants to show me. He shows me his snowball at about 20 mph, to the nose.
Yes it’s was quite funny….to him. Not so much to me. He laughs, stumbles and falls to the ground. We all laugh as I make my own snowball in response. He struggles to get up but soon does, only to get a snowball from me, to his nose, with love of course. This knocks him down on his face into the snow. Of course he gets up crying that it hurt and he was cold.
“See son, don’t throw it if you can’t take it”