The game started simple enough: he kicked the soccer ball at me, I whacked it back. But I couldn’t whack it back without a silly sound effect. So I emitted the natural sound: one of a samurai warrior delivering a killing blow. Rupert laughed. So on the next whack, I emitted a new sound. This one a guttural wail. Rupert laughed.
This game continued for a while. A classic game to play with a child: perform an action, make a silly sound.
Then, the magic: the soccer ball passed between the couch and the wall, in a space only barely wide enough for it to fit. I emitted a sound befitting my excitement: a sound that said, “Behold!!!!!!!!!!!!!” He laughed at that a lot a lot.
Magically, he knew not to keep kicking the ball at the crack. The game progressed, with the crevice a randomly-happening delight. If it had been tougher to hit, aiming at it wouldn’t matter. But since it’s easy, you don’t want to aim at it or you water down the fun.
We played for fifteen minutes, with variations throughout. At one point I switched from sitting to lying on my back with my head upside-down, then finally lying on my side. At another, Rupert’s father joined in with a shark. He didn’t match the game as-played, however, so Rupert nixed his joining. Perhaps I should have told Rupert’s father how to play, since it wasn’t intuitive to him. I guess that’s how rules evolve.
At night, Rupert bumped me with his bum while walking past. It was very funny, very playful, very goof. We both guffawed for a while.
I made a friend. So what if he’s three years old.
