You may recall that Caleb was a hobo for Halloween this year. When he told me what he wanted to be, my first thought was, "Yay! that will be easy." and my next thought was, "How did he come up with that?" I still don't know. What I do know is he is pretty interested in hobos. He asked me what a hobo was about two weeks ago, and where he could find one. I tried to explain that hobo is an old word, that we don't use much anymore. People who were once considered hobos, would now be called things like: Homeless, Migrant Workers, Alcoholics, Mentally Ill or Vagrant, therefore, we are more politcally correct, or at least more descriptive in our use of language to name what we used to call hobos. My kids don't buy it. They obviously have a mental picture of what a hobo is, and they are on the lookout for a few. Today, we passed the school crossing guard, a gentleman of advanced years, with a portly tummy wearing a hoodie. Pouring forth from the hood was a gray beard that santa would be proud of. My kids promptly pronounced him a hobo and dissolved into giggles. Caleb announced that he had a friend who had seen a real hobo, and he had asked her mom for money. He is not so sure of Santa, but he seems determined that hobos do exist, and he is going to hunt until he is satisfied.
The kids got out of the suburban at the school and blew me kisses. Then Caleb stretched his arms wide, flexed his hands forward and yelled, "Air hug!" Miriam quickly turned around and sent me one too. I love you, fun, zany children!!!
