Ah, Kids

I worked two events today. For the first one, I guarded access to an off-limits area that no one tried to enter. I stood in a dusty, low traffic area with a cold breeze blowing down my neck for 4 1/2 hours. It kind of sucked, except for the one four- or five-year-old kid who was beyond thrilled to return my "Hook 'Em" sign when I flashed it at him. By the way, did you know that this sign proves that the entire Bush family are Satanists? Now you know.

For the second event I guarded a piece of equipment that I thought no one would try to touch. To my delight, near the end of the event, a nine- or ten-year-old boy touched it. I got to scare the crap out of him. Because of all the noise, he didn't hear me come up behind him. I didn't yell. I didn't threaten. I simply said, "Don't touch that, please." He jumped out of his skin. And he stopped touching it. And he didn't come back to touch it again. It was quite satisfying.

And Jason Dick was in my section. Pretty sure. He had a black wedding ring. Looked just like him, anyway. And two of the suit-wearing event sponsors came and shook his hand and asked him if the seats were okay. They don't usually do that for your average local pseudo-celebrity look-a-like, so it must've been him. And the black wedding ring. Who gets a black wedding ring? I'm not sure if I'll label this as a Brush with Greatness or not. I mean, he's a local radio D.J. That barely counts as famous, right? But he is drive time, you've got to give him that. And morning drive time. He doesn't exude greatness, though.

The best part of the evening was at the end of the night, when the fans were invited down onto the floor to get players' autographs and allow their children to run all over the place and throw footballs around and just generally wear themselves out before the car ride home. I saw Thumper out there on that floor. Thumper as he will look in about 3 1/2 years. His parents didn't look anything like the Mrs. and me, but he was the spittin' image. He was running, up and down, up and down, his still-toddler-chubby cheeks jiggling with the impact of each step. He was as perpendicular to the floor as a telephone pole. He took tiny steps. He pumped his arms furiously. And the way his brow was furrowed in concentration, I could tell he thought he was running faster than any human being had ever run before. I mean, he was practically airborn. I almost wept to see him. But then I snapped back into my black-shirted Security mindset and pretended to be stern.