Thirteen and beautiful?
Kids, especially tweens, often want to drive the mobile unit that the puppet “drives.” My standard lines include, “No, you’re too young to die” or “No way, look what it did to me. I look like I’m 90, and I’m only 17” or “You’re too handsome to risk your looks in this wreckmobile.”
I’m outside the mobile unit, firing off these one-liners in a small, loud crowd of tweens, who are eventually deterred by my blizzard of blather. As the crowd moves off, a quiet voice, suddenly beside me, says, “Do you think I’m too pretty to risk my looks driving the mobile?” I turn, and there she is. Probably 13, at that cusp where her teenage looks could go horse-faced or high cheekbones. Her wide, questioning eyes seek reassurance, even from a random old guy who had just indiscriminately used compliments as jokes.
My standard answers wilt in this suddenly serious occasion. So I slow down, and I look at her. Is this another kid needing reassurance and acceptance from a father figure? Some such kids have bottomless needs. Next I wonder if she’ll believe me if I say she’s pretty. After all, I had called some guys “handsome” when “humanoid” would have been more accurate.
From the blur of verbiage flying through my brain, I wing-shoot an answer that flops clumsily into place. “Oh, anyone your age shouldn’t take such horrible risks. (Did I just pause too much?) But yes, you’re much too fine a person to drive …”
Later, I try to remember, “Did I ever say she’s pretty?” It would have been so easy. But apparently not.
