Glancing up from my book, little YaYa caught my eye. He’s not as little as he once was, but in his flag football league he is the youngest and thus the smallest.
YaYa was on the sidelines with his back to the play. It appeared that he had scooped up a handful of mud. He was immersed in his own world, oblivious to the game, as he slathering the goop across every inch of his hands. I wondered what he was thinking. Would it help him to hold onto the ball, or guarantee that he didn’t? It didn’t appear to matter. He looked happy.
A few minutes later, he was out on the field. I paid close attention so that I could determine which answer was correct. YaYa hunched over the ball, gripped it in his muddy hands and readied for the snap.