November 2010

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Watching Squirts throw a ball – or anything else – is like watching a physics experiment in kinetic energy. The act of launching the object from his hand involves some aspect of every visible part of his body. As his right hand pulls back with the ball, his left arm juts out with a fist curled under. His tongue sticks out in one direction or another, often giving away the final destination of the object in question. His eyes either squeeze shut or bulge open. And at the last moment his left leg lifts and swings in an awkward arch in an attempt to make the ball fly as far as possible.

If he could raise both legs at the same time, he’d probably give it a shot.

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Usually Squirts is a sponge. He hears every word, every conversation, every phrase spoken around him, soaking it in with little response or reaction. Then one day, BAM, he’ll add the words or phrases to his four-year-old vocabulary.

On one particular day last week though, the topic of conversation was too important for him to remain a quiet bystander: San Francisco’s ban on McDonald’s Happy Meals.

As he overheard me commenting on the city’s pending new law, he looked up from his row of Hot Wheels and asked, “What about Happy Meals?”

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Bear