My mom tells a story about a child who, when asked what color a banana is, replied, “White.”
I took Peanut and Butter to the playground as part of a whirlwind “let’s get out of the house even in the rain because I might kill both of you if the whining and the hitting and the jumping off couches continues” morning. Long walk, quick grocery trip, and playground. Peanut romped all over like a madman while I introduced Butter to the finest pleasure of all time: Acme sourdough baguette with Cowgirl Creamery Cheese. I selected a Mt. Tam because nothing says rainy day at the park like a ripe, triple cream brie.
Peanut got wind that we were basking in Bay Area deliciousness and joined us. Both boys would take a bite, then run off to climb or slide or play. Then come back for another bite. We must have had 7 or 8 minutes of bliss before it all went to hell again. That almost-ten is pretty good ’round these parts. See the rest of this blog if you doubt that assertion.
And after the spell was broken, we were all full of organic, local fat and carb-y goodness, a handful of kids from the nearby middle school came running over. Three grabbed empty swings and another started to mount the swing next to a land-based Peanut.
One of his friends reprimanded him, saying, “Hey, I think that kid was using that.” The boy, startled, asked Pea if he was, in fact, using the swing. Peanut shook his head, “no,” and the boy recovered his momentum into the saddle.
And as my five-year-old watched these teenagers swing, I listened to them.
“Don’t rob a green banana!”
“Don’t kill a green banana!”
“What’s a green banana?”
“Well, old people are brown bananas.”
I looked at my boys. One is a very, very green banana. One is barely an apple banana (the teeny tiny bananas that are so cute you want to just keep them in your sock drawer and coo at them).
And as I digested the bliss that came from the previous moments of culinary and parental joy, I realized that I’m neither a green nor a brown banana. I’m neither underripe nor overripe. Probably freckled with brown but not splotchy yet. Yellow. Somewhere between tomorrow and yesterday on the ripeness spectrum. And maybe, when I make it out from under the weight of all that is life, when I and step out for a moment or two as my own person in 20 years or so, maybe I’ll still have enough yellow left to do a few things, say a few things, and change a few things in this world.
You feeling green or brown or yellow today?
I feel quite like a white banana, under my peel.
It’s funny, but I forget that I’ve aged, ripened. Sometimes I have to remind myself that ten years have indeed passed. Though I wonder who thought I was ready for a real job, a morgage, a marriage, and, eh-gads, children. So I feel a bit green, turning yellow.
Feeling a little brown-splotcy today – hoping that my energy will return some time before my 80th birthday. Not entirely sure that it will.
Feel like I can’t see my peel from here.
I am the sticker on the banana.
I’m thinking, perhaps, that I’m actually an orange living in a world of bananas…
haha. jc for the win!
I would normally say I’m downright yellow. But since I just got a job offer last week, I’m feeling more and more green all the time. Funny how getting your first full-time, tenure-track, career-style job at 34 years old will make you feel like a youthful sprout. But you know what? I feel like my life is just about to begin — in, you know, five months when the fall semester starts.
Was their commentary more innocuous than it sounds!?
Today, I feel like an over ripe banana nobody wants…:( Might have something to do with a little PMS and the end of Spring Break, after a couple of days surrounded by children masquerading as college students at the beach. I think I am officially old if I am annoyed by college students getting drunk and flirting with anything that moves…
Totally white banana.
Lately, I’ve been feeling so very, very brown. Sigh.
I love this one so very much!