Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

An Artist is Born

AN ARTIST IS BORN
For some reason, that has not been explained sufficiently to me, some of the children in Colorado are out of school for the week, Ashley and Mitchell being two of them. So they boarded the train with Tim and came downtown, where I was rewarded with some quality family/Tabba time as we wandered the 16th Street Mall. I headed down early to visit the Tattered Cover bookstore and indulge in a little people watching as I lounged on the bench in front of the bookstore and read. I was not disappointed, as all manner of tourists, teens, punks, vagabonds and lovers strolled the mall.
Lunch was the first matter at hand when the clan arrived, and, unable to decide on one mutually satisfying cuisine, we rode the shuttle up the mall to the hot dog/breakfast burrito vendor, where Mitch and I got burritos and Diet Pepsi’s, then hitched the shuttle back down a block to McDonald’s where Tim and Ashley emerged with a Halloween Happy Meal. We walked a block to the plaza, where we enjoyed our fare as we watched people playing Ping-Pong on the plaza.
The conversation was pretty casual—work, teenage drama, or lack of, a little bit of politics. Until Princess Ashley asked the question no one else dared.
“So, uh, Tabba. Who are you going to vote for for president? Obama or Romney?”
Wow, that’s quite the question for a six-year-old. And with such a serious face. I was caught a little off guard, and I think Tim may have been as well. I’m not always the best at being politically correct, but to be politically correct with a six year old required even more thought.
“Well, Ashley, if you could vote, who would you vote for?” Ha, perfect answer. I’m sure my mom would give me kudos for following some form of early childhood development path that involved re-directing.
Ashley thought for a minute, then, in a non-committal kind of way, stated “I think Obama.”
“Why?” Tim and I both couldn’t resist the secret behind her thoughts.
“Oh, he just seems really nice. Nicer than the other one.”
There it was, that simple, he seemed nice in the eyes of a child. Not a lot to argue about politically there. We finished our meals and went to throw our trash away, which is when we discovered the Mall Ambassador. He sat behind a wall of glass, in a small cubicle crowded with books, brochures and stacks of board games. When we inquired about the ping-pong, he informed us that not only could we play ping-pong for free, he also offered up games such as parcheesi, checkers, and chess, which Mitch quickly talked Tim into playing. They sat contemplating each others moves, while the ambassador sent Ashley and I to a table with a full box of new crayons, and each with a picture of the downtown Denver skyline.
We colored for about an hour, casually chatting, Ashley sharing her thoughts about the money museum, autumn and the colors in her picture as we colored. We finished our pictures, and the ambassador said he was impressed with our work—we were the only ones he’d ever seen finish coloring the whole page. He offered to hang our colorings in the window of his shack—I let him hang mine but Ash decided to take hers home. We hit the ping-pong table for some much-needed practice, but only lasted a short while, during which we spent way more time chasing the ball around the plaza than actually volleying it over the net.
Before I knew it the day was gone and it was time for the clan to head back to the burbs. We parted with hugs at the shuttle stop, and I headed up the hill as they headed down the hill. It was indeed a great day, and my picture was officially hanging in the shack for all tourists to see…

October 17, 2012 - Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , ,

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