I guess it’s not good to have your nipper think I’m part of his school work. Yeah, pretty much that’s all I can see with this tale.
It’s happened before, parents bring their school neonate to me to ask questions. Now I don’t mind if you ask me first and it’s something I know about (two things that limit the chances I’ll ever be asked) but it never seems to work out like that.
It’s usually an ambush and way out of my field of expertise. And, for whatever reason (reason: I’m pretty much an asshole), I don’t act in a manner most would consider proper.
Not that I think it’s bad, I never expose the tyke to anything that’ll harm their delicate psyche. It’s just my way of teaching the parent to think their actions all the way through.
“Ask Chris.” The father prodded his squirt. “Go ahead.” The father looks at me and smiles. I do not offer an in kind.
It’s explained to me that the bairn has to ask people who their favorite Indians are. Oh, this should be pretty easy.
“Rocky Colavito.” I respond. Nothing. They’re both blank as a fart. I didn’t even get anything when I offered up Bob Feller.
The urchin begins to tell me what the project is, but I don’t care. He goes on about what he has to accomplish, I care even less. He tells me he’s having trouble because it seems everyone he asks is offering pretty much the same names. Okay, this gets my interest.
“Do you have any?” The anklebiter asks. I smile at him, nod to his father and begin.
“I have three I’ve always admired. There was the warrior Running Fever; Chief Sitting Shiva; and the notable squaw Smells Like Fishes.”