Big ears

I made a quick sortie downtown at noon today to pick up a baby present for family friends. As I was meandering back to the office, musing about how dank the river smelled (welcome to my life), two men approached me as I passed the convention center complex.

I can only say they were somewhat distinctive in their, je ne sais quoi, clean-cuttedness. Hmmm. Who's in town this week?

State school nutrition folks? Check.

Local high school Class of 1990 reunion? Check.

LDS youth conference? Check and check.

Clean-cut Guy #1 was obviously on an intellectual roll, animated and emphatic in his conversation.

"You know all that stuff that they say about Biblical writings?"

Clean-cut Guy #2 nodds.

"I'm just not all THAT sure they have to come from the Bible."

Of course. Now I get it.

Coming soon to a grocery store near you: Marvel Comics' "Leviticus."

Big ears

Note: I'm not sure I've ever properly explained the concept behind "Big Ears." It's just that, ever since I was little, I've had the superhuman ability to shamelessly eavesdrop on multiple conversations going on around me. Yeah, call Marvel Comics. Its new, potentially most awesome character ever, The Listener, is in the room.

But anyway. Early in our courtship, the Wonderfully Patient Spouse found this unsettling and sometimes even a little annoying. Today, after 35 years of wedded bliss, I believe he thinks its one of my most attractive qualities.

So tonight.

What's not to like about a group of 6-year-old somethings and a big bad-ass pick-up truck? They've been playing on it and around it like flies on a, well, you know. As I sit here at my computer I've watched them act out numerous high-drama scenarios involving bazookas, hand grenades, swords, ropes, death rays and a few new weapons of mass destruction that frankly I'm too old to be familiar with. The truck has served as a WWII bunker, starship and Fort Apache -- in no particular order, and sometimes I think, simultaneously. The only thing missing? A couple of them dressed up like Zorro, wearing their moms' rain boots. Now those were the days.

So, the evening is wearing down and the troops have congregated in the bed of the big bad-ass pick-up truck. One small warrior -- skinny as the dickens with the most amazing head of blond hair -- has commanded the group's attention. He is clearly trying to make AN IMPORTANT POINT. His gesticulating -- and voice -- are larger than life.

"NO! It's spelled R - A- I - N!"

Pause.

"That means you're IN CHARGE."

The evening ends in semi-tragedy. Our young hero is whacked a titch too hard by a light saber. Bawling, he runs toward the house with his little buddies scampering after him, crying "Sorry!"

And, on cue, the middle school brother and his posse come around the corner singing out loud, covering Bon Jovi.

Sweet.