Turn of the Century

The days are getting longer.

Sack kids are outside with increasing regularity. Their shrill voices and the dense thud of a basketball seem ever present. The occasional drone of a lawn mower has also returned. High-pitched bird songs are back too, especially behind homes that provide feeders.

The Sack's summer soundtrack is playing again.

***

I sat on the front step earlier this week. It was a sunny, promising day. It was good enough for shorts.

Sack kids were enjoying a day off school. Apparently, it was a professional development day for many of the old town's teachers. I had taken the day off work. There is such a thing as feeling too well to go to work.

Most Sack kids were outside. As I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee, many of them passed by. I saw Dorian, Oscar's boy, ride by on a bike. He was wearing one of those newfangled bike helmets. From a distance he looked like Darth Vader, if, of course, Darth Vader was prone to riding a mountain bike.

Rental Doug's kids shuffled down the street. The longer they've lived here, the less snarky they seem. But don't kid yourself, they're still snarky.

***

Young Doo ambled by with a wheelbarrow.

He was heading toward the vacant lot that lies behind one side of the Sack. There was a shovel sitting in the wheelbarrow. It looked like he had digging on his mind.

I couldn't recall if his stepdad, Sticky owns a wheelbarrow. I thought he borrowed mine a few weeks ago, but I couldn't be sure. For a brief moment, I thought about asking Doo about the wheelbarrow. But then I remembered it was my day off.

Besides, sometimes it's not a good idea to poke your nose into Doo's business.

***

Then Tremayne strode confidently up the Wonders' driveway.

If it's possible to imagine a six-year-old gangsta, one would have some idea about Tremayne's appearance. He was wearing a red do-rag. A blue plastic handgun was stuck strategically down the waistband of his baggy little jeans.

I'm told that Tremayne watches a lot of music videos.

***

As usual, Tremayne was selling chocolate bars for his brother, Jimbo.

Apparently, Jimbo's class is planning a trip "somewheres." Tremayne isn't even trying to play up the charitable aspect of the chocolate bars anymore. For him, it's all about the chocolate, man.

After selling me a chocolate bar, Tremayne asked, "Guess what?"

I told him I had no idea. "Take a guess," he replied.

"I give up," I said flatly. I don't like spending time guessing about things on my day off.

Tremayne smiled and then said with pride, "I can count to a hundred."

"No way, man," I said with exaggerated disbelief.

"I can, too. Wanna hear?"

Before I could reply, Tremayne launched into a breathless count. As he passed fifty, he sounded like he was having an asthma attack. But as he moved into the eighties, his voice slowed and a look of triumph emerged on his face.

When Tremayne finally hit one hundred, he called out the number with immense pride. Almost breathless again, he looked at me with the smile of someone who has just accomplished something very important.

Then he asked, "Want me to do it again?"

***

Counting to one hundred is a grand achievement for kids of a certain age.

Calling out "One hundred!" is akin to pumping one's arm in the air after scoring a critical goal or a game-breaking touchdown.

Of course, it's not long before kids realize that it really isn't that significant. Once they start learning arithmetic and mathematics, counting to one hundred isn't very impressive at all. In fact, learning to count is merely an early prerequisite before we can really start learning about numbers.

After all, you have to learn the alphabet before you can learn to spell.

***

Nevertheless, Tremayne's counting proficiency is still something to be celebrated.

I congratulated him on his success and shared my newly purchased chocolate bar with him. Something tells me this was Tremayne's hope when he shared his counting prowess with me in the first place.

After finishing the chocolate, he toddled off toward the vacant lot. Tremayne doesn't hang out with young Doo very often, but a wheelbarrow and shovel must've been too good for him to pass up.

***

Yesterday, Oscar told me that Elizabeth had gone "toe-to-toe" with Dora.

Apparently, some friends of Burning Manor had flicked cigarette butts on Elizabeth's lawn while they milled about on Dirk and Dora's driveway. Elizabeth wasn't home at the time, but someone told her about it. For Elizabeth, this was the final straw.

According to Oscar, Elizabeth knocked on the front door of Burning Manor and let loose on Dora. Dirk, I'm told, wasn't home at the time.

Oscar said a lot of finger-waving and spittle was exchanged as Elizabeth unleashed a long litany of complaints about Dirk, Dora and their charming circle of friends. Dora responded in the manner she knows best. She swore at Elizabeth and said she could have made "a hundred complaints" about other people in the Sack, but she knows how to "mind her own business."

That's when Elizabeth told Dora, "You couldn't even count to one hundred, never mind have something to complain about around here."

Dora slammed the door in Elizabeth's face.

***

It remains unclear whether Dora slammed the door out of anger or because she really can't count to one hundred.

If it was the latter, I think I know someone who could help her.

***