Answering the question when it's asked by children

[Scottish Chi]

I have learned the hard way not to eat or drink when reading posts on this forum. Not good for the nose, might need Heimlich, and doesn't do much for the keyboard either.

Cheers! Bill

[Kizmet]

Thank you all for your input. Now you get to see why I was asking.

This is from a novel I'm writing. The major characters are Oliver, a man who wears a kilt (and a mohawk, thanks to Prestor John's son) and Veronika, a widow who has been working as his translator and teacher. The scene is a summer evening in a park, with musicians and dancers attracting the locals to come and dance. Oliver has just rescued an old man from a bully, and is now ready to enjoy the evening.

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Amused, Veronika allowed him to take her arm and steer her around the impromptu block party.

“Hey, whatcha wearing girlie clothes for?”

A boy and girl stood under a tree, laughing and pointing at Oliver. He looked them over and for a moment, Veronika worried that he’d again pull out a weapon, but instead, he walked over to them and put his hands on the lowest branch, leaning forward on his toes.

The boy was smaller, perhaps younger than the girl, who stood her ground with her hands on her hips. “Whatcha wearing that for?”

“I like to wear it,” Oliver said, swinging his hips back and forth under the branch. “Don’t you like to wear skirts?”

“I ain’t got none,” the girl said, wrapping an arm around the tree.

“Yes, you do,” the boy said in a sing-song voice, pleased to contradict her. “Mama bought you one and you hid it.”

The girl pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You promised not to tell.”

The boy grinned. “You said not to tell Ma.”

“I meant everybody, fool,” she said.

Oliver continued to swing under the tree, whistling.

“Whatcha wearing that for, hunh?” Oliver was asked a third time.

“A very long time ago,” Oliver thrust his head forward and spoke under the noise around them, “there were very fierce warriors. They carried swords and spears and won many battles. They wore kilts – that’s what this skirt is called.”

The girl sniffed as the boy’s eyes grew large. “Swords… like yours?”

“Bigger,” Oliver nodded seriously. “Much bigger. Some of them as big as you are.”

“You can’t have sword as big as Jamie,” the girl challenged him. “It would be too big to pick up.”

“But they did,” Oliver said. “They had very big swords called broadswords that they would pick up and swing and kill their enemies.”

“Can I get a sword like that?” Jamie demanded.

“You couldn’t pick it up,” his sister said with a sneer.

“I bet I could,” Jamie shouted at her.

“You could, if you built up your strength. Men worked for years to get strong enough to use a broadsword.”

“I could do that,” Jamie said. “I could. Really.”

“I believe you,” Oliver answered.

“I don’t,” the girl shouted back. “You’re just stupid.”

“Would I have to wear a kilt too?” The boy grinned. “I know where I can get one. Cilly’s not using hers any more, I know where she hid it…”

The boy ran off and his sister turned to Oliver. “You ain’t got a broad sword. So why you wear that skirt?”

“I wear a kilt because I like it, and because it is a sign that I am a warrior. Why don’t you like your skirt?”

“Cause I can’t climb trees when I wear it.” The girl jumped and grabbed the branch that Oliver was holding, and scrambled up into a crotch of three branches. “Ma tells me that I have to be-have when I gots a skirt on.”

Veronika chuckled, but Oliver considered the pronouncement. “Your mom’s a smart woman.”

Cilly turned her head to look at Oliver out of the corner of her eye. “You think so?”

“I do. Some clothes are just right for the job you have to do. You need lots of room to stretch when you climb a tree, so you wear sturdy pants that let you move. But if you were going to dance, what would you want to wear?”

“I don’t like to dance,” the girl said, but clearly Oliver didn’t believe her.

“Don’t you?” He twisted under the branch. “I like to dance. I’ve never seen dances like the ones you do here. Do you know them?”

“Course I know them,” she said and jumped to the ground. “Just go ask Belina. She’ll teach you.”

“Who’s Belina?” Oliver asked.

“She’s my aunt, she likes to dance.” Cilly leaned toward Oliver. “My skirt is too short and the boys make fun of my underwear.”

Oliver nodded seriously. “It’s a problem with kilts too.”

“So what do you do about it?”

Oliver dropped down on one knee, his face level with the girl’s. “I make sure that I’m so good at what I’m doing that if all they can do is complain about my underwear, that shows how stupid they are.”

Cilly’s face twisted as she considered this, swinging around the tree. “You’re right. They are stupid.”

“Most boys are,” Oliver agreed.


Comments welcome. Comments very welcome.