My husband and I dragged our fourteen year old along on a 6-mile walk on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. A long walk with Mom and Dad was a lot less threatening than a short run with Dad. So, there we were, taking in the scenery, talking, soaking in the late spring sunshine.
And he complained. Are we there yet? You walk too fast. It’s hot. You’re annoying. How have you not broken a sweat?!
Nearly approaching the end, we passed by a very small elderly woman with her very small dog, and he grinned, “Now that’s a good walking speed!”
He demonstrated for us what his walk looks like, probably in a ploy to slow us down, and we debated the correct word for it. Amble? Stroll? Waddle? Is walking even a sport?
He was very funny.
Then today, as the boys and I walked to school, he explained to his brothers how he had suffered so on Saturday. Mom and Dad walk too fast. It was hot. They’re annoying.
And he showed them his walking “style”, short, slow-motion steps. “I take the time to appreciate my surroundings. Look at that beautiful tree! And this chain link fence? It’s a metaphor for humanity linking arms and taking care of each other.”
“Wow, you’re boring to walk with,” said his younger brother.
“But when you walk fast,” now on the defensive, “you can’t think of metaphors!”