Spring Fever

Spring is well sprung and this airy bright March morning is bursting with possibility. The daffs are swaying, and the blossoming buds are shooting towards us from the apartments on the far side of the green. On their way to school.

Alive and kicking, this little cackling army of boys, mostly, ignore the berating buggy mom lieutenants in charge as they advance down the path, before dashing across the road just beyond our front kitchen window. Flitting giddy-eyed down the side of our corner house like restless mayflies, they disappear from view down the laneway that leads to the school that must contain them, the echo of their retreating voices reverberating in the air behind them.

I’m cultivating the idea seed that has taken root in the soil of my imagination as I stare out the window. But my eyes are drawn to one tiny black boy, all cool and cute in his bright military fusion parka and chunky off-white trainers. 

He’s on his own, this lad, on a solo mission, satchel tight to his back as he cuts and chops through some invisible bother with his tiny fists and arms, throwing in a few kick flicks as well. And serious with it.

I’m thinking how cute he is, a wee live action man sprung into action, bursting his way through fiends and monsters on his everyday odyssey to primary school.

And then I ponder other possibilities. Is he copying some Marvel muscle man, or the latest vicious mixed martial arts anti-hero? Already led by his phone. Taking down the baddie and saving the day and the town once again, or is he inflicting the real pain to come for sham friends and would-be oppressors?

Or maybe he’s the next generation comic superhero writer, composing his latest epic on the way to boring school?

Relax, it’s just harmless little boy fun, isn’t it?

Or are these the early prods and punches a prelude to a burgeoning cycle of brutality and aggression? Readying himself for the fray. Fighting back as best he can in an unequal world, or preparing to get his revenge in first.

And why is he alone?

Maybe he is already suffering under the regime of a less than salubrious background and a life less ordered and cosseted?

Or he’s just a little boy busting out some fun moves. 

But the real fighting has to start somewhere, and you think of those big boys betraying countries and old allegiances to side with other tyrants and aggressors against the smaller guy. 

The smaller boy who must choose between fighting back, looking for others to help him in an unequal war. Or just give up.

How did it start for the aggressor and the aggressed? 

Nah, he’s just a little boy bursting with spring energy and possibility, the sap rising as he chops and kicks his way for fun and diversion to school on this this airy bright March morning. Isn’t he?

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