I hope that when you read the title of this post you hear a thunder crash and a sinister laugh at the end of it, perhaps some minor chords played on a pipe-organ as well. Just a few days ago, maybe a week now, although the timing isn’t relevant, I was driving through a residential area and noticed one of those yellow diamond signs that says “Caution Children at Play” and has a crude depiction of your great-uncle Jasper pushing a hoop with a stick. I saw the sign like I’ve never seen it before, or rather, I should say I read the sign like I never read it before. Instead of “Caution: Children at play” I read it “Caution, Children at play.” It wasn’t a warning for me to be careful so as not to endanger any children; it was a warning for me to be on my guard because of the children.
I heeded the sign’s warning and kept an eye out for an over-all’s wearing, cowlick kid with a sling-shot. I was also on my guard for a spikey haired boy in his trademarked red t-shirt and blue shorts sporting a spray can and skateboard. Being an unconventional thinker as I am, I also made myself aware that if I ran into a large, bulbous, bald-headed kid in a yellow shirt I ought to be careful not to let him drag me down into some sort of shared depression. The point is that children are dangerous, or so the sign would have us believe.
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