The thumbs have it. They can soothe you (sucking). They can entertain you (twirling). They can get you a free ride (hitchhiking). They play a major role in giving a great raspberries (thumb to nose). Where would signing family, loser, fat, and telephone be without a thumb?
I pulled the Worm’s hair back in a pony tail with a purple scrungy to match her lavendar shirt. She and Grandpa (who happened to be wearing a purple shirt) were bound for a YMCA open house. “Purple is my favorite color,” she said excitedly.
“Mine, too,” I admitted.
“I can bounce a ball,” she continued. “I’m wearing tennis shoes so I can play basketball today.” She patted up and down a few times in the air against an imaginary ball. “But then it gets away from me.”
“You’ll do better today,” I encouraged with a smile and a thumbs up. “It’ll be a good purple day.”
In the afternoon, she marched in with two big thumbs up. It reminded me of when, at two-years-old, she coerced an older friend to carry her on stage during a singing performance by the children in Sunday School. She’d sat perched on his arm, waved, and called out, “Hi, Grandma.” I’d pretended to be embarrassed as I raised my thumb up to acknowledge her. Then her little thumb matched mine. It’d become a ritual between us.
“’Cept Grandpa talked so much I missed playing the sports,” she wistfully recalled about the outing.
“No, I didn’t,” the talkative reporter answered. “You danced and got your face painted.”
“But I didn’t play any sports.” She coughed and politely covered her mouth with her forearm just like her mom had taught her.
“You’ve caught another cold. Has the doctor ever given you a shot?” asked her Grandpa. “When I was your age, I kicked the dentist in the leg when he tried to give me a shot of Novocain.”
“Sounds like you made a bad choice, Grandpa,” the Worm, with infinite wisdom, said.” Thumbs down I motioned at the reporter and laughed.
Yesterday my friend Theresa and I had met for lunch. It’d been months, but a quick upward turn of thumbs and the corners of our mouths, erased the space between visits.
As we walked from restaurant, we pointed our thumbs up once again at each other, laughing. “Better than…” she said, motioning a distaining thumbs down, then transforming it to a “your out!” sign.
Yep, opposable thumbs put us species ahead of the other animals. Just ask the Worm.
Related posts:
- Play it again, grandma
- The case of the missing bacon
- Where did the years go?
- Modern family
- A winter’s day in California with grandkids
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Penny, I love it! You get two thumbs up and a grin.