By Jim Hagarty
1988
I felt like a bear climbing out of its den after a long winter’s sleep. The hibernation was welcome but so is the spring. As long as I live, I’m sure, those first warm rays of sun on my face after winter will be a lift to the spirits.
And another welcome lift appeared when I stepped outside my front door last Wednesday to find my neighbours’ children Bradley and Jennifer standing shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk across the street from my place, staring in my direction and looking for all the world like a couple of rosy-cheeked kids in a Norman Rockwell painting. Though the weather was balmy, they were still bundled up. I hadn’t seen them more than once or twice, and then only briefly, since last fall.
“Well, if it isn’t Frank and George,” I called across the street to them. “How’re you fellas doin’?”
After checking for traffic, they crossed the street hand in hand and were soon standing beside me.
“We’re not Frank and George,” protested Bradley, the older of the two, with a very serious look on his face.
“You’re not?” I said. “Well then, who are you?”
“You remember us, Jim,” said Bradley. “I’m Bradley and she’s Jennifer.”
“Oh, so that’s who you are.”
“Come on Jim,” said Bradley. “I know you’re just foolin’ us.”
“That’s right,” I admitted. “I remember you two. So, how’re you boys doing?”
“Oim not a boy,” said Jennifer, after popping her thumb out of her mouth. “Oim a dirl.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “And you’re a dirl too, Bradley?”
“No way!” he said. “I’m a boy.”
“Of course you are,” I said. “I can never get that straight
“So, your mom’s a boy too?”
“Nooooh, she’s a girrrrrrl!” they corrected me, in unison.
“And your brother Steven? He’s a girl?”
“Nooooh! Smarten up, Jim. He’s a boy,” said Bradley.
“Oh, now I get it,” I said. “Sometimes, I’m such a dummy.
“And your dad? He’s a girl like your mom?
“Nooooh!” came, a loud chorus of denials. “He’s a boyyyyyy!”
“Well, that worked out pretty well then, didn’t it?” I said.
“You know what, Jim?” said Bradley. “I know you’re just foolin’ with us.”
“Ya!” cried Jennifer. “And oim a dirl.”
As I was sweeping off my driveway at the time, my little neighbours, whatever their gender, pitched in. Bradley grabbed another broom out of my garage and Jennifer a whisk and for the next 15 minutes, I swept dirt off patches of pavement and they swept dirt onto the patches I’d swept off. Spring cleaning takes a little longer this way.
I’m glad winter’s over.
