Walk With An Eight Year Old Boy

I took our son on a walk today, just the two of us. We've walked the big hill to the East of our house several times as family, but this was the first time it was just Ben and me. As we left our driveway and started on our way, the words began to flow from my boy. They flowed freely as we crossed the street. They continued as we trudged up the hill, panting and removing jackets as we climbed. He talked through the flat stretch of sidewalk. He talked as we passed his school and turned around. My how the words came! I was able to interject an occasional reply or question, but other than that, he had the floor. His topics changed almost as often as the breeze...sometimes funny, sometimes thoughtful, sometimes random. Conversations like:

"I think I am growing a mustache. I can feel some hair on my lip here. Really. I think when I'm older I'll grow a mustache. Or a beard. Or a goatique."

"Sometimes at school I daydream. I was daydreaming at recess and woke up just in time to see the wall ball coming straight for my face!"

"I want to go to Seattle again....and go to the Needle Point. Dad and Emily got to go up on it, but I never did."

"Judas sold Jesus out for 30 pieces of silver. I thought it was 20, but my Sunday School teacher said it was 30."

"I'm hot! I have armpit juice! It smells like olive oil. Really. Do you want to smell it?"

And so it continued, for the entire duration of the walk. He only stopped when we were back on our street, feet from our house, and he saw his sisters outside playing. "Bye Mom," he said, as he turned and ran to meet the girls.

Conversation done; just like that.