Stephen W.
Yelp
After my first semester in graduate school, my Marine unit was activated to go to the Persian Gulf. I lived in Saudi Arabia for six months, where alcohol in nearly any quantity will get your head lopped off with a scimitar.
On the flight home to the U.S., we laid over at this charming little airport for six hours or so. Scores of jarheads still in desert fatigues exited the plane and proceeded to get abolished in a place where, lucky for them, the locals were inured to the spectacle.
I got very functionally drunk that day. I mean that getting drunk wasn't adjunct to any social interaction, since I seldom liked drinking with Marines. I drank to get drunk, got drunk, then found a place to lie down on a bench and lowered my desert cap over my face and went to sleep.
Snapped awake. Shielded my eyes against the light as I realized the cap had been removed from my face.
By a little boy. Standing about three feet away from me. About two or three years old with hay-colored hair and a rooster-tail cowlick at the crown of his head. Holding the ruin of a cone in one hand, his mouth a clown's mouth of smeared ice cream, mint green and bubble gum pink. In the other hand, my hat.
Off behind him, seated, his grandmother, I'm guessing, a solid whale of a woman in a plain billowing dress, sixty or so, with florid cheeks and smiling eyes and ham-shank forearms folded over her tummy.
The little boy smiles at me and in a perfect, musical little Irish voice says:
"Amerrrican G.I. Son of bitch!"
Startled and amused to hear this from a toddler, I sat up. Thinking I was about to give chase, the little boy took off at a trot with my hat in one hand and his ruined cone in another, and his titanic grandmother threw back her head and literally rocked with laughter.
At a short distance, he looked back to see if he was being pursued, and I feinted in his direction, and he squealed with laughter and bolted again. I figured I pretty much had to let him keep the cap that was making his day, if only to demonstrate that what his grandmother had taught him about American G.I.'s was, in some instances, not entirely true.
I went into the bar to put the shine back on my drunk, then came out again and went to sleep. When I awoke, my hat had been returned to my face, and the boy and his grandmother were gone.