#1 - Talk To A Stranger At A Set Of Traffic Lights

Have you ever pondered the history of a deck of cards?  How about try and explain it to a child?  This was the futile situation I found myself in one afternoon this week. 

I admit I have a predilection towards children.  Their wide-eyed wonder of things we take for granted and natural ability to quell any self consciousness are reflective of a spirit we, as adults should take some time to re-discover, leaving behind, if only momentarily our propensity to follow rules. 

As fond of children as I am, instigating conversational banter with young'ns of today is not something I'm usually inclined towards.  Nor did the talking take place, as the name suggests At A Set Of Traffic Lights.  However, before you purists unleash a harangue regarding pedantry (or lack thereof) the objective of #1 - Talk To A Stranger At A Set Of Traffic Lights essentially was to engage in an improvised, spontaneous chin wag with a randomly generated member of the public. 

The young man in question, 4 and a half years old as I learned as our conversation progressed,  we'll call him "Brock", befriended me on the train one afternoon immediately striking up a powwow, sans polite chit chat about the weather and / or introductions.  His opening line?  "Have you got any games on your phone??" 

Up until recently I didn't know mega bytes from giga bytes but an over-priced invoice from my internet service provider quickly sorted that out.  The financial cost of ignorance, born from over indulging in downloading this and that prompted this entry into urbandictionary.com: Killer Byte - the ignorant overuse of your allocated gigabyte expenditure resulting in a ludicruously high monthly charge, thus killing any plans for otherwise disposable income. Killer Byte.  What I'm trying to say is that until recently, much to some people's horror I hadn't an iPod and hadn't downloaded a song. 

He's insistant about the game.  "I've got one game on my phone," I tell him and next thing he's cajoling me with his cuteness.  Immediately I feel myself blushing as the people in the seats nearby and his mother watch the scene unfold like origami.  Embarrassed that I have an audience I show him Solitaire and begin to explain the rules.

As I explain the alternating of red, black, red, black in descending order - that bit we can do, Brock is proficient in numbers it seems - I'm finding it difficult to find an answer to "but why?" without resorting to "because that's the rule." 

"What's that flower?" he asks, pointing to the club. 

"That's a club" I answered.

"What's a club?"  At predictable yet reasonable inquiry.  My immediate visual definition is of a weapon, a hitting instrument, to club one over the head with.  Err...discussions with the youngster regarding violence is not a good idea and somehow the conversation deviates.  Phew.

Imagine if at that point I showed him a pack of real cards, explaining that they were the same thing and that a tangible pack of cards existed before card games on phones.  Imagine the confused looks as I try to explain and how the discussion would divert to who invented cards, where diamonds come from, what kings and queens are and the unconvincing notion that Jack in the pack of cards is not the same Jack as your best friend at day care.

By now our Solitaire game has ended and the train pulls into the station.  It turns out this is Brock's stop as well and he and his mother and I exit the train together.  We introduce ourselves.  She's Nicola, I'm Nicole and we walk and talk about this and that.  Brock tried to hold my hand and although I didn't pull away I suspect he changed his mind as he then grabbed his mother's hand.  It was a fair decision.  Nicola tells me that Brock is quite social and occasionally picks people to chat with but not everyone.  I feel special that I was one of The Chosen Ones.

We're walking home in the same direction, stopping outside the units where I live and Brock asks "do you have children?"  I disappoint him with my reply, "no".  Nicola says that he's trying to make new friends.  I suspect later that they might be new to the suburb and regret I probably missed an opportunity to welcome someone and make two new friends. Perhaps we will meet again some day on the train or at the bakery.  But for now I head home with a warm, fuzzy feeling having spent some time with a delightful, bright young boy and a mission to google the history of playing cards.