Independence

The other night, my brother and I were having an argument about who was the bigger scaredy cat when we were kids.

“Oh yeah? I once spend three days in the basement hiding from the pizza delivery guy.”

“You call that scaredy? I’m hiding in my basement right now.”

Thankfully, or maybe unthankfully, this is not how Elijah views the world.

Last weekend, the family went to a big old South Side cookout. It was at this huge, rambling house owned by a fairly famous radio personality. There were dudes that looked like they came out of a 1970’s crime movie lurking around. There was a beheaded pig being carved by a man with a massive butcher knife. There was Pabst Blue Ribbon beer being consumed un-ironically.

Needless to say, I stayed on Diana’s apron the whole time. But Eli? He immediately took off in search of big kids to play with. And if it wasn’t for me nervously searching for him every ten minutes, I honestly don’t think we would’ve seen him for the three hours we were there.

Here is just a taste of what I found, when I was lucky enough to find the boy:

-Elijah standing on a chair asking question after question about how one butchers a pig with a massive knife.

-Elijah playing pool with a troop of kids three times his age. And cheating.

-Elijah at the fridge instructing party goers to please “Bring my dad a beer. He needs one.”

Now, remember. This kid is THREE. Not five, not ten. Three.

I spent all my time not searching for Eli with Luca. At least he needed to be with his parents. Mostly because I wouldn’t put him down.