Wednesday, October 10, 2007
I saw him coming across the greenspace. He paused, tottering on the curb, and then crossed the street. Geeze, I groaned. Because one of the constant, nerve-racking parts of bookwagon is watching little kids cross a busy street to get to us instead of waiting for us to come to them.
What had he risked life and limb for this week? Spiderman? Franklin?
Turns out he came to show us his words. Someone had given him a diary with a broken lock and a pen. He wanted to show me pokemon which, he earnestly explained, he had copied off his game.
Good going, kid.
His other words were less exciting: Nanny, Douglas, like, car.
I asked if he would like to write down bookwagon in his book. "Okay. How do you spell 'bookwagon'?"
I spelled it out, and he wrote it down. Then one of his friends showed up. They looked at the words together for a minute, borrowed a couple of books, and wandered off.