I sat on a blanket in the shade, near the dugout. My two year old son was eating a cheese stick and wandered away from me to explore the perfectly manicured baseball field. No need to race after him. The park was completely fenced in, and I could keep my eye on him at the same time my two girls were practicing their soccer moves nearby. Jensen looked very small standing alone between 1st and 2nd base. Nibbling on a cheese stick. A few moments later, his 3 year old cousin joined him on the field. They faced one another. And discussed whatever it is that a two and three year old talk about while standing in the middle of a lonely baseball field.
Then Jensen dropped his cheese stick in the dirt. A small cloud of dust rose from the ground where the snack landed. While still facing one another, both cousins stood completely still, gazing down at the cheese stick. In the dirt.
“Oh please God, don’t let either one of them pick up that cheese stick and eat it. You know my sprint isn’t what it once was, and I’ll never make it out there in time. And besides, it’s so nice here in the shade.”
After a minute or two, Jensen lost interest and walk away. His cousin remained, still staring at the discarded cheese stick. He took a step back, and kicked dirt over the offending mozzarella. And walked away. Only for a moment. Then returned to the scene of the crime to kick more dirt over the evidence. Not unlike Jimmy Hoffa, that cheese stick will never be found.
Satisfied, he turned to follow Jensen onto their next adventure.