Worry dolls

My mom had been trying for two years to get me to take the last of my stuff out of her house.  I resist because I’m renting and my rental is tiny.  (Crap. The last and best excuse is going to disappear in less than a month.)  But every so often she unloads something on me, usually without me knowing.  Like handing one of the boys an old toy or three.  Recently she gave Evan a small collection of worry dolls.

And Evan loved them, sticking them in his backpack and taking them to school.  When school let out, he gathered a large circle of his friends and pulled out the worry dolls with flourish.

Evan: HERE THEY ARE!  See these are worry dolls!  You tell them your worries, and they keep them for you!  Wanna try?!

The kids: YEAH!!! ME!!!! ME!!! ME!!!!

Hands stretched out, demanding for a doll.

Evan: HOLD ON!  I’ll go first.

The parents leaned in close.  I held my breath.  Finally a look into his little soul to see what I can do to help ease the transition, to help him heal, to make him better.

Evan: (took a breath) I worry that a hippo will run me over!

WHAT?!

KJ: I worry a buffalo will eat me!

The Nice Girl: I worry we’ll hit a turtle!

Boy Twin: I worry a hippo will run me over!

Girl Twin: I worry an alligator will run me over!

K: I worry a deer will run me over!

RJ: I worry a deer will eat me!

I forgot.  Evan’s class is full of budding comedians, trying to one up each other.

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