with a rebel yell the little king launches himself at the six foot monster
a boot aims and a well fashioned fist lashes out at any presenting soft flesh.
a grunt a yow and the monster collapses to the floor covering its head and rolling about wounded and yelping.
buoyed with success eyes a sparkle the little king grins and plans another assault.
a long arm snakes out and jabs slaps hits picking him up and turning him upside down.
put me down put me down bashing and pummelling wherever he can reach.
what what what feigns the monster stumbling in confusion.
back on their feet they dance around
push shove screech prod squeeze pinch shriek
until one or other calls quits.
in the background the women sing out
steady on buster don’t hurt granddad.
the little king knows he is safe, knows he is held within the space of a loving adult
safe to explore the huge embodied energy coursing thru his veins
safe to test boundaries
to learn about strength and power
to learn about gentleness and drama.
as babies they were introduced to biggling
that lovely soft squealing tumbling rolling about play much like kittens or puppies
the play that generats a field of delight.
then it morphed into rumbling and wrestling tumbling and flipping over and around on futon or couch until one cried for mercy
or cushions thrown and slammed with accuracy broadsiding giggles and shrieks
or tea towels whippings around sinks and dishes.
and then the game was over as they grew beyond it
and we paused until the next generation appeared
and now the rebel yells fill the house again.