“Catch ‘em, Daddy! Catch ‘em, Daddy!” they shouted.
The Mayor and The Rooster blew kisses and threw them out the back window of our car as we drove away from the commuter rail station.
“No!” Mayor shouted. “You don’t say it, Roo!”
[A tiny girl released a great wailing…]
“He said NO to me, Mommy! You are making me SAD, Mayor!”
“Roo,” I said, “Daddy caught all of your kisses. Don’t worry.”
“Did he catch mine?” The Mayor asked.
“Only the ones that you threw when you were being nice,” I told him. “When you were being mean to Roo they fell --PLOP-- right on the ground and didn’t reach him.”
“Why, Mommy? Why didn’t my kisses reach him?” he asked.
“Only kisses thrown in niceness and love can fly. Kisses thrown with any meanness nearby get weighted down and become too heavy. Kisses with meanness on them fall right down to the ground.”
There was a moment of toddler contemplation.
Then 1,000 lovely kisses were blown from the backseat of our car.
“Catch ‘em, Daddy! Catch ‘em, Daddy!”
“What happens when we get too far away?” The Mayor asked. “Do all the nice kisses reach him?”
“If a nice kiss doesn’t reach Daddy it finds someone else to land on,” I explained. “Someone might be walking along, minding their business, going to work when suddenly… --SMACKEROO--…one of your nice kisses lands right on their head!”
Roo and The Mayor laughed at the idea of their kisses falling on the heads of random strangers.
With renewed enthusiasm, they threw millions of light-as-air, love-filled kisses out the window chanting,
“Catch ‘em! Catch ‘em!”