My son was a bush

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As I write this, my son and daughter are trading Halloween candy.

It’s a ritual in these parts at the end of every Oct. 31, and it’s something I’ll very much miss as my children start to age out of this fantastic holiday.

But as much as I dig the swap meet, what I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really love is that, this year, Emmett dressed as a bush.

Why? Because he wanted to be a bush. That’s it. He thought it’d be a cool costume. So about a week ago we went to Home Depot., purchased a big plastic pot (cracked in the bottom, so snagged at half price) and some chicken wire. Then a friendly neighborhood gardener said he’d set aside some cuttings—which he did.

Today, after arriving home from school, Emmett created his bush. I was skeptical, but  piece by piece by piece it took shape. Then, as we walked through a neighborhood—the payoff.

Are you … a bush?

Holy cow!


A plant?

It was fantastic.

And original.

That’s the best part. The weird thinking of a kid I helped created.

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