The child scrunched his nose at his feet. his mother had tied the shoes on  perfectly, right shoe on right foot, left shoe on left foot with a nice double knot to keep it from getting undone. or to keep him from his mischief. He waited in his seat patiently, since his mother ordered him to greet his grandparents when they came. And to behave. Though there was small chance of the latter occuring for this little lad.
    
His mother was on the phone cooking dinner - to the average parent, it looked as if he were just watching cartoons. But no, this little boy had the intentions of a little boy and would not settle for less. The mother went jabbing off and on and off and on again over things and words that were so big he couldn't pronounce them, even with his oh-so-scholarly first grader voice.
    
Then, the moment he waited for. she had left the room and was off to her bedroom, as she normally did when she was getting intimate in her conversations. This little boy saw his opportune moment and took it. When he heard her door shut, he scrambled to stoop down to his feet and his fingers attacked the double knots. They wriggled like fat flesh-colored worms under the tightly bound cords and formed them into a hook, pulling his fingers up and with them the knots. Then came the easy part of the untying and the much weaker bonds, and soon his toes were wriggling in fresh air. But they only enjoyed their freedom for a few seconds before he plunged them into the opposite shoes. He awkwardly stuffed his right foot in his left and left in his right and he grinned with an innocent gurgle at the strange feeling. the sensation he felt when he walked was very alien, but he didn't really think of why he did it. Then again, does a child think of his actions when he is so young?
    
After checking to see that his mother was still on the phone, he sneaked out the front door as stealthily as he could, though stealth isn't very easily made when you must walk with your legs straight as sticks and your buttocks jutted out just to keep balance. when the door shut behind him, the boy was a boy again, not the midget gentleman he was dressed up to be. He played in the dirt with sticks to mud up his front shirt, staining the little tie and black jacket. He fell in a mud puddle, mussing his hair and crusting dirt over his formerly pristine little hands and face. He tripped a few times, due to the mix up of his shoes that he so loved. Though slowly he grew to work the leather of the shoes so it was less awkward. It was his pride he could walk with strange feet - nobody else at school could so by God he would strut his stuff in front of his grandparents to show them what a graceful boy he was. Discounting the mud stains that were evidence to his faults along the way.
   
An old compact pulled into the dirt drive way, and two elderly folks got out of the car and stared at the boy with gaping mouths and eyes that looked disgusted. The boy's mother gave the same expression as she walked out of the house, the phone dropping from her hand  as she hung up.
    
But these looks of gall and disappointment did not phase this boy. No, he was the one just trying to be himself. You can dress up a little boy and tell him to do things, but the little boy is the little boy. and how the little boy acts is only determined by his will. Even in this situation, he had the spirit to look up to his grandparents and say with a big, toothy smile(though his front two were gone), 'Hi granma! Hi granpa! I missed you!' and attempt a hug before they could push him away to avoid getting mud on themselves. But hey, boys will be boys. And this one came nothing short.