We've all heard about Jack, my four-and-a-half-year-old neighbor. I wrote about him here. And here. And here.
Jack is fond of costumes. Typically, he roams the neighborhood dressed up as a builder, or Superman, or a fireman. Lately, though, the craze is for cowboys. Wearing his cowskin vest from last Halloween's Woody costume (from Toy Story fame), he rustles imaginary cattle all up and down Norwood Street. In fact, his preschool teacher just informed his family that he can no longer wear his cowboy boots to class, as their slippery soles are a hazard for fast-moving four-year-olds.
Well, yesterday afternoon, when I threw off the surly bonds of gainful employment and ventured out into the yard to bask in the youthful hijinx of my wee neighbors, I was surprised to discover that I barely recognized young Jack. He was wearing a sort of junior-version cabana shirt, khaki slacks and some very nice velcro sandals.
I commented on his sandals, and he replied, "I'm taking a day off from being a cowboy."
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