while some gave up and let them run wild.
Davey and Scoot were the lucky ones that ran wild, usually playing on the teeter-totter, until the “Big Cheeses” (that’s what they heard parents say, referring to the bosses) got through speaking. Then they would head back to the tables and chow down on hot dogs, with mustard and ketchup running down their little chins, until their bellies were about to burst. “No fair!” they would complain, if they didn’t have room left in their tummies for watermelon or cake.
The first time three-year old Davey saw the clowns, he was overjoyed. They appeared in the front of the annual Fourth of July Parade, riding on miniature cars and kiddy’s tricycles, and it was funnier than a “barrel full of monkeys,” as his dad would say. The clowns were dressed in different colored outfits. Kids clapped uncontrollably as they jumped up and down, laughing as hard as they could.
There was only one really scary moment, that first year of the clowns for young Davey. One of the clowns, who dressed in white with red trimmings, pedaled his undersized bike very near the front row of children. He was so close that Davey could have reached out and touched his grinning face. As the front tire nearly ran over his little foot, he quickly pulled both feet back out of the way. His young mind figured it was part of the act anyway, so he grinned widely at this comical performer.
Suddenly, he felt as if an icy finger was travelling up his spine, as he gazed into the clown’s eyes. Those eyes––they were not smiling. They appeared black and flat, without depth. Beneath the painted-on grin, his mouth wasn’t smiling either.
Davey stepped back and buried his face in his mother’s skirt, refusing to look at the clowns anymore that day. His mother hugged his head close with her gentle, angel’s hands, as she continued her conversation with a friend who was standing next to them.
Davey waited until he was sure the clowns were out of sight, and then peeked out just in time to see a rusty, old, fire engine passing by. Then came a marching band, followed by a drill team. With his mouth agape, he began to enjoy himself again, watching the baton twirlers tossing their sparkly batons high in the air and then catching them. There were dogs pulling small carts with kittens in them, which completely erased any thoughts of the scary clowns from his young, impressionable mind.
Later at dusk, the crowed oohed and aahed at the fireworks display. When it was all over, Davey went home and right to bed, a very tired, but happy little boy.
The next morning, as a sleepy-eyed Davey dragged himself down to the kitchen, he became aware that there was some kind of sadness in the air.
June quickly said to her husband, Guy, “Shhhh, we’ll talk about it later. Poor Marion. I’ll go see her this afternoon...”
His father nodded, eyeing his son as he entered the kitchen.
AT FOUR-YEARS OF AGE and after attending preschool, Davey considered himself quite grown-up. He already knew his ABC’s and could count to twelve, even though he had only ten fingers.
“It’s almost the Fourth of July, my little man.” His mother always called him that. Why...he didn’t know, besides, who ever saw a man who was actually little?
He smiled up at her with a question in his eyes, all the while making a mess with his cereal.
“Fourth of July, Davey! Picnic at the park, fireworks, clowns, parade....”
For whatever reason, a slight shiver rippled through his body. Picnic, clowns...Davey shook it off and grinned broadly again at his mother.
“Just two more days, Davey, then we go to the park and have all kinds of fun!” The last word was emphasized like it was some kind of extra-special fun, butDavey wasn’t so sure about that.
He poked his stubby fingers up and counted, “One, two.”
“Right you are, Little Man!” June embraced her son and he felt the love flow from her heart into his.
Before long, it was the usual bustle as the barbecue smoke filled the air, people laughed, others played ball, and children dashed everywhere. One of Davey’s classmates glued himself to his side, being a shy boy and a bit younger than him.
“C’mon, Wilson! Go play somewhere else,” he urged the new boy, “Maybe over there, with those girls!” He was partly teasing the boy and partly meaning what he said. Wilson hung his head as a small tear escaped