It burns

“It burns! It burns!”

Last fall, I had dinner with an extended family group. An aunt, her nieces and a grand-nephew, and, what it amounted to? Oh, I just don’t know the connection. Some of the same last names, some different, I don’t know how we’re all connected. I don’t care. The aunt is aging, and the younger of the couples had nephew, or grand nephew, or cousin-in-law, or I don’t even know what the connection is, but anyway, they had this two-year old boy-child with them. Cute kid. Gemini, little male Gemini. If you have to know. Not that matters, but I note these things.

While we all had nice a dinner, it was, like, after church on a Sunday afternoon, the grandmother was seated next to me, and the little boy-child Gemini was next to her. He got to eat dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. Man, why do the kids always get the coolest food?

The grandmother put a couple of french fry on the little boy’s plate. He picked one up. Me and the grandmother watched as the little boy’s eyes began to well up with painful tears.

She looked over, “What wrong?” She had matronly concern, but there’s a matter-of-fact kind of air a grandmother (or grandmother type) can affect, and frankly get away with, that the rest of us just can’t pull off.

Tears in his eyes, holding that french fry, “It’s hot.”

There was pain creeping around the edges of his voice.

In her best grandmother voice?

“Well, put it down.”

I think I’ve used this example, it happened some time in the last 6-8 months, either I’ve written about it here, used it the in weekly video, or popped it into a horoscope. I can’t recall. But it illustrated a point, so well.

Tears in the little feller’s eyes, “It’s hot.”

Just put it down.

When it happened, I looked at the mom, the grandmother, and I giggled, “He’s such a guy.”

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About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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