ALL GROWN UP

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I would like it duly noted that I am "a pretty cool grown-up."

I was bestowed with this honor by a committee of children in my neighborhood, so you can’t take it lightly.

It all happened when I was out in my yard, being just a regular old grown-up and raking the leaves. While curing diseases and launching space ships and creating supercomputers is nice and all, I really think we should put all of our collective brainpower together to figure out a way to make all of the trees drop their leaves all at once, rather than across a span of 11 months. Just a side note.

Anyway, in my neighborhood, there are gobs of children who are always playing together. Some of the children actually live in the area. Others, I think, are bused in for maximum decibel output. On this particular day, they were playing hockey. Well, they were sort of playing hockey.

They had inline skates and sticks, but they were missing one key element – a bruising slash across the head from Marty McSorley. (Ha! Little something for you hockey fans out there.)

No, they were without a puck, opting to use a pinecone instead. And, it was clear that the pinecone puck did not have much life left in it.

As they came past my house, I caught one the kid’s attention. "Hey," I said, "you guys need a puck?"

In no time, about 240 kids were stacked up at the edge of my yard, amazed that there may be an actual puck in their future.

I went inside to get my hockey stick and street puck. They are relics from a time in my life that I call the "Not Afraid of Emergency Room Visits Era." Ever since I became a mortal a few years ago, the hockey stuff has been dormant.

But, I figured this was the perfect time to pass on my craft (that craft being walking with crutches). As I was heading back out to the street, I noticed the kids had gathered in the garage. Probably just playing with my power saw or axe. You know – kid stuff.

As I reached the door, I heard one of the kids say, "Yeah, he’s a pretty cool grown-up."

There you have it. Out of the mouth of babes. I am a pretty cool grown-up.

The simple phrase inspired me. For a fleeting moment, all of my adult responsibilities were gone. No mortgage. No insurance. No calls to the cable company when Fox is a little fuzzy. It was like I went back in time and was 10 years old again. (Wife’s note: What is he talking about "went back in time"? I’ve known him for over six years, and he’s always seemed like a 10-year-old to me.)

I went out in the street with the kids and began hitting the street puck around with them. To the kids, I was very possibly the greatest hockey player on the planet, despite the fact that my hockey skills more closely resemble those of Wayne Newton than Wayne Gretzky.

For the next half-hour or so, I was putting on a hockey clinic for the kids, showing them the finer points, like how to pull your opponent’s jersey over his head during a fight so that you can pummel him without getting hit back. Gotta start with the basics. It’s all fundamentals, folks.

Soon, this pretty cool adult was a pretty heavy breathing adult, and decided to sit down on the curb for a while, rather than be tended to by a pretty cool ambulance driver. The kids, of course, continued playing, because children are in better shape than, oh, most any adult.

After I caught my breath, I realized that I had to return to the exciting world of raking. I sauntered over to my rake, and watched as the kids kept on going. Little Timmy had Little Joey’s jersey pulled over his head, and was just pounding him. That’s what youth sports are all about.

The kids played for a few more hours, and then dutifully returned it to me. (By then, I had moved on to the exciting world of garage cleaning!) As the kids walked off, I recounted my brief hockey time, and my brief return to childhood, and thought, I am a pretty cool grown-up. And I could have whipped Timmy.