POST-THANKSGIVING DINNER ESCAPADES

I only had two "takers" yesterday when I asked who wanted to join me in a post-Thanksgiving dinner walk--Big Bore and my 11-year-old great neph Luke, who said there was a new trail in his town that he wanted to try out. So off we went. It turned out to be a steep, up and down bike path next to a strip pit and a railroad track. I didn't particularly care for it because the trail never flattened out. We'd just run down a hill and then we'd have so much momentum that we'd almost be back up to the top in a flash. Hell on the knees.

All was going relatively fine, however, until we got to the strip pit. "Don't go down to the water," I ordered Luke. "It looks mucky down there." Which was his cue, of course, to head straight down to the water. The next time Big Bore and I saw him, he was carrying his filthy shoes and walking bare-footed.

"I got stuck." And it wasn't just in mud. It looked like tar.

"Put your shoes back on," Big Bore told him. "You might cut up your feet. This time Luke did as he was told, muck and all.

"Do you think I can make myself look like a warrior?" he asked.

"Sure. Go ahead." He was already filthy from the knees down. Why not go for the gusto.

He slopped globs of the tarry stuff below his eyes. Lovely.

We finally got tired of the ups and downs and decided to go to a city park and throw some horseshoes, Luke and I against Big Bore. Luke had never thrown regulation shoes before, and once we got him convinced not to toss them overhanded, he became a bit safer to be around--until he ripped his pants. And we're not talking just a little tear. Oh, no. This was a full-scale blow-out from the waist band to the crotch. Fortunately, he was wearing his Fruit of the Looms and a baggy shirt, so we continued playing--Big Bore being victorious.

Next came the really hard part. Taking Luke home. He was not the same child we'd started out with. He looked like he'd was returning from the battlefield--most of his clothing ruined and his legs and face sticky with this nasty, black goo. The answer: drop him off at the curb and drive off in a hurry. "Good luck!"

Today his mom called her mom, my Big Sis, for their usual morning chit chat. I was prepared for the worst but all she reported was that "Luke had a blast" with his dear great auntie and unc. The shoes and pants apparently were old--no big deal, and the gunk got washed off. For that we are all most thankful.