Of the myriad number of gifts that the Bean received during the one-two punch of 8 nights of Hanukkah immediately followed by his third birthday, without a doubt the greatest one, the one that gave him the most enjoyment and occupied him for the longest, came squished inside a greeting card.
The card in question was sent by one of the Bean’s peers, whom I’m guessing had an assist from a parental unit, and contained one deflated purple balloon. As far as I could tell, it was your standard issue round balloon. Nothing special, nothing fancy.
“What’s this?” The Bean asked holding the flaccid balloon up for me to inspect.
“I’ll show you,” I said taking it from him.
I blew it up and held it aloft, pinching the neck so no air would escape. I looked him directly in the eyes and let go of the balloon. It whooshed around the ceiling, dive bombed the carpet and bounced back into the air before landing in a crumpled heap next to the Bean.
His eyes were large.
“Do that again,” he said.