Adventures With Robert, part II

This afternoon I was torn away from cuddling with the kitten (a necessary part of my pre-grad school afternoons) by a knock at the door. Actually, there was a knock, then a second knock...and then the doorbell rang...and then a knock again--finally I came slowly down the stairs to open it. I had a pretty good idea who was there, as the mailman doesn't knock, he just shoves the mail through the slot and continues on his way. Sure enough, I opened the door, and Robert was suddenly in my house.

"Can you come out?" he said.

"Well, I'm not gonna' come out right now," I responded, stalling for an excuse. "I'm about to bake some banana bread." Good one.

"Bread? Where's the bread? Gimmee some!" he shouted, looking around my living room.

"No, I'm about to make it..." I tried to clarify. Suddenly, distracted by a movement near the window, Robert shouted, "Oh! Is that yo' cat? Can I hold 'em?"

"No, Robert, you can't hold Tibu right now--is your sister home from school? Maybe she could play with you," I suggested, directing him back toward the door.

"Naw. Can you puh-lease come out?" he begged, and then went for the ultimate weapon. "Can you read me the teddy bear book?" He knew I couldn't resist that one.

I've been trying to read to him whenever I have the chance, since he can hardly sit through a story and that makes me sad. Plus, he's starting Head Start in a week and I figure it can't hurt to give him an extra-head start. I picked up a few used books at a thrift store, including Corduroy, which he loves for the scene where the night watchman finds the bear hiding in the bed after trying to remove a "button" from a mattress. That's the part where he usually says something along the lines of, "Oh, snap! The cop's gonna lock 'im up!" I always try to point out that the watchman isn't actually a cop, but that's much less interesting to my little urban-culture-saturated friend.

"All right," I said. "I'll read you Corduroy, but then I'm gonna go back inside." Right. He knows once he's got me on the stoop, anything can happen.

Sure enough, a few minutes into the story (after I've threatened twice to stop reading because he keeps interrupting me and shouting at neighbors as they pull up in their cars) Tiara comes outside. She's carrying her Everyday Mathematics workbook, and asks if I can help her with her homework. I agree, and Robert takes off to find a basketball.

As we're working on a math pattern, Robert shoots his basketball into my recycling bin with an accuracy even LeBron James would admire in a four-year-old. Suddenly, the ball bounces off my house and out into the street. Robert's mom has told him he can no longer play in the street (a good rule, don't you think?), so he yells to me, "Miss Katie, Miss Katie! My ball!"

I get up, and make a big show of looking both ways before I walk to the other side of my car and retrieve his basketball. As I turn to hand it to him, he asks, "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

Confused, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Is yo' mom gonna get mad at you for goin' in the street?" he insists.

"Um, Robert? I don't live with my mom anymore. I'm a grown-up."