Sunday, May 21, 2006

Assignment 5A

I just finished assignment 5 this afternoon for my class. This time I had to choose a child and observe him. For part A I had to describe him; for part B I had to tell what he was thinking. I chose Evan, the 6-year-old I watch. Here's part A.

I stood in the corner, observing the festivities of the birthday party. Suddenly Evan’s voice caught my attention.

“Hey, watch this, guys! I can juggle!” he announced. Everyone cleared a space for him in the center of the room. He picked up his two little juggling balls, took center stage, and hoisted up his baggy tan pants, which slid immediately back to his hips. As he began to toss the balls into the air, his tongue shot out and stayed out. With Evan’s face upturned, I noticed the unusual shade of his eyes, a sort of blue-gray. His eyes resembled those of a basset hound, large and slightly droopy in the corners. And he had eyelashes that any woman would be jealous of—so long and full!

Well, Evan certainly was not a juggler. He bumbled around the room, chasing his wildly thrown balls, punching his efforts with an occasional raspy, “Whoa!” He didn’t seem to notice when he stumbled into his audience a time or two. Then his back turned toward me momentarily, and I could see the outline of his shoulder blades through his T-shirt as he lifted his arms. I looked a little more closely. He didn’t look sickly—his cheeks were full and flushed—but he was definitely thin. Judging by the way he darted around, I guessed he was probably pretty active.

Plop! Plop! Both balls hit the floor, and Evan collapsed on top of them, Indian-style, panting loudly and looking around at his peers with a wide, toothy smile.

“Pretty cool, huh?” he asked. “Betcha didn’t know I could (gasp!) juggle bofe at the same time!” When two boys acted interested, Evan began teaching them how to do it.

“You hafta throw it kinda high in the air, guys, and then you hafta throw the other one right away. And catch bofe of them. Here. I’ll show ya again.” He demonstrated right then and there and missed one of the balls. “Oops!” He grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

Suddenly a girl’s screechy voice pierced the commotion. “Eeeww! You’re all sweaty, Evan!”

Evan wiped an arm across his forehead. “That’s ‘cause I’m a boy, Gina. Boys sweat. Girls don’t. Karen, can you get me something to drink, please? All that good juggling maked me thirsty!”