Gender Blunder

Saw a kid at the playground yesterday on a spinner. Not sure what this particular piece of equipment was called. It’s just for one person. Dizzy stand? Whirl-n-hurl? The Vomitter?

The kid was really good. Amazing, actually. He must have been going a thousand miles an hour round and round. He was a blur. Not sure how he was doing it. Centrifugal force? Magnets?

As he spun and spun and spun, he turned his head after his body and then caught up with it on the next go — like an olympic ice skater. He also held his head at an angle so there were extra creative points awarded as well. He wasn’t just some rando kid spinning. He was an athlete, an artist.

His short hair was purple and black, kind of an ombre — a little punk, which is not uncommon here in Oak Park. He was wearing a black tracksuit with purple piping. He was short. Not skinny, not fat. Just solid. Probably 9 or 10. The most remarkable thing was that when he was done, he stood straight up and casually jogged over to his mom. I can’t do the teacup ride without needing an hour to reset my ability to walk.

Because credit where credit’s due, I took a few steps toward them. “Excuse me,” I said getting the mom’s attention. “I was watching your son on the-”

“Daughter.”