Whatcha Doin?

A fun little story about our times.

I finally went outside to plant my magnolias and gardenias when Bradley appeared on the opposite side of the chain-link fence.

“Whatcha doin’, Mr. Peters?” Bradley asked.

“Oh hi, Bradley, I’m painting white clouds in the sky and mowing the lawn. Why do you ask?” Long gone were the days of pretending I didn’t want to be sarcastic. As I was turning into the curmudgeon many said I already was, my sarcasm was in full throttle.

“Ah, you’re just funnin’ me, Mr. Peters. I can see you’re plantin’ flowers.”

“Well, that and painting the clouds. I hid my paint brush.”

“Can I help paint the clouds, Mr. Peters?”

“Don’t you have some video games to catch up on or maybe even help your Mom tidy up your room?”

“Naa, she kicked me out and said I was bothering her. Can you imagine that, Mr. Peters, my own mother saying I was bothering her?”

“Hmm,” I said with a grunt, knowing my sarcasm this early in the morning could get me into more trouble than it was worth.

“Pity, I would think that at this stage in your life, you need your five hours of video games and…”

“Video games?” asked Bradley. “Who plays video games anymore? You must be real old to think like that.”

“You’re right about that, Bradley. Come on over and I’ll put you to work, how’s that sound? You like digging in the dirt, don’t you?”

“I dunno. I’ve never done that before. Think my mom would be okay with that?”

“Six years old and never dug in the dirt before? Why, I….Oh never mind. Go ask your mom first.”

“Ok, be right back. Don’t go away.”

Within two minutes Bradley was at the fence again, peering through the chain-link.

“Mom said it was okay and that you might teach me a thing or two about dirt and stuff.”

“Well, she’s right about that. Come on over then.”

Bradley raced the length of the fence, got through the gate and ran up alongside Mr. Peters.

“So, this is dirt and this is a spade,” I said.

“Hmm, doesn’t look like a spade on one of my Dad’s playing cards. Is it the same thing?”

“Mmm. Same word, different meaning. This spade you use to dig with. You sure you’ve never played in the dirt before?”

“Nope, never.”

“With this spade, I’ll dig 12 holes about three inches around. I need it to be about six inches deep. Look at that first hole over there. That’s about how I want all of them, but three inches apart.”

Bradley sat on the grass and folded his legs. He breathed out a heavy sigh.

“Confused? Tell you what,” Mr. Peters said. “Come with me to the garage, and I’ll get another spade. Then we can do this together. Sound good?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Two inches and three inches and six inches. I guess I just don’t know anything about anything.”

“Oh, you will. But you have to get your hands dirty.”

“But I’m a little worried. Is this dirt good for you?” Bradley asked.

“More than you can possibly know, Bradley, more than you know.”