Love

These Kinds Of Things Don’t Happen To City Kids

Last night, I was on the phone with my dad and Indy was watching Bubble Guppies, and Kendrick came charging into the living room:

“There is a huge turtle sitting in our front yard.”

That is a sentence that you don’t hear when you grow up on 46th Street and 10th Avenue. Ever.

I did have a turtle when I was little, actually. I found him at our friend’s lake house upstate, named him Sammy (many of the pets I had when I was little were named “Sammy”), and brought him home for a summer before releasing him back into the lake when September rolled around.

Anyway, here’s how the conversation went last night:

Me: “OH MY GOD A TURTLE CAN WE NAME HIM SAMMY AND KEEP HIM?”

Kendrick: “…No.”

And so the evening, exciting as it was, came to a close with a stroll down to the lake near our house, where we left Sammy II sitting on a rock with a little snack of leaves.

I miss him already.

And I am so excited that this is where our son gets to spend his childhood: in a place where turtles just wander right on into your yard, just because.

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