With Susan and Morgan out Girl Scout Camping, it’s been a guys-only weekend around the O’Hara house. Dad stopped by this morning, so the three of us piled into the Avalanche and hit a nearby neighborhood garage sale. Dad’s advice (“never go to garage sales of people richer than you”) held true. No good junk, and what they did have was overpriced.

After lunch, Mason asked if I would take him to the park and play basketball with him. We have a basketball goal at the end of our driveway, but he wanted a full court I guess, so off we went.

The park we visited has a full-size basketball court and a smaller, fenced in area with modified basketball goals with trick backboards. Mason wanted to visit the fenced in area first, but there was already a family of four in there and not a lot of elbow room, so instead we took turns shooting around on the regular court.

Within five minutes, some kid had joined us. He had his own ball and didn’t want to play with us … he just wanted to shoot at the same goal we were shooting at. I’m guessing the kid was twelve or so and had impeccable timing; each time I threw up a shot, he would toss up a layup and would collide with my shot. That got old fast, and more than once I glanced at the other end of the court to see if that side was open and available. It was.

Eventually the fenced in area became available, so we headed over there. Ten or fifteen minutes later, here came two kids — we’ll call them Mike and Ike — both about seven-years-old, and wanting to play PIG … with our ball. I was done shooting anyway, so I sat down on the bench and let Mason, Mike and Ike play PIG. If you’ve never played p PIG, it’s where kids take turns shooting shots and then try to make the same shots their friends made … at least, that’s how most people play it. Mike decided that he was also allowed to block other people’s shots. Then Ike decided he was allowed three attempts before he gave anyone else a turn. I figured Mason would eventually get tired of their shenanigans but he’s too nice and was too desperate for someone to play ball with to say anything.

Before long the twelve year old from the other court came over and began throwing at the same goals the kids were shooting at. In the fenced in area there are about eight different goals to shoot at, so it completely made sense that he had to be exactly where we were at all times.

Eventually the twelve year old challenged Mike and Ike to a game of PIG so I asked Mason if he wanted to play with me instead and he said yes. At one point Mike held his ball up, looked at me, and then said “hey mister … suck on THIS shot!” before launching a horrible toss.

This story really has no ending and no point other than sometimes you meet weird and oddly unsupervised kids at the park.