After weeping over how grown up my oldest is getting earlier last week, Jedi later came home with a stuffed zebra he acquired at his school’s Valentine shop. With all smiles, he literally skipped his way to me.
“I got to go to the school store!”, he exclaimed, the animal’s paws dancing behind my son’s bouncing back.
“What’d you get?”, I replied in turn, not able to see fully what he had at the time.
Bringing it to light from behind his back, he beamed, “A zebra! He was my bus buddy on the bus!”. It was a mohawked zebra at that, obviously in need of a wild handle to go along with his appearance.
The rest of the evening, he wouldn’t allow Bus Buddy, as it came to be referred, to leave his side. It sat next to him while he ate, it watched him play on the computer, he gave it a voice and put on a show with his sister and her bear. Thus, it was no surprise when he wanted to take Bus Buddy to bed with him. Alas, as we were ending the night, I decided that his zebra couldn’t go without a proper name any longer.
Now my kids have never been the outlandish sort with the monikers they choose. Still, I tried. “You know, Bus Buddy needs a name. We can’t just call him Bus Buddy forever. How about… Buster? Get it, Bus… ter?”. I thought it was rather creative suggestion. Jedi didn’t feel the same, however.
“No”, he refused flatly, clearly a better, crazier idea in mind. A zebra with a mohawk, the options were endless. Or as far as his imagination would take him.
“I know!”, he said. “I’ll call him Zebra Buddy!”
His imagination didn’t take him very far.