All poor Andrew wanted to do was play the bongos - I hear that the ones at the new town park are really great - they have a decidedly metal tone that harkens (yes, I said harkens) back to the steel drums on the playground that my poor underprivileged dad played with on Long Island. You know, the one he had to walk 20 miles each way to use - and it was uphill EACH way and it was ALWAYS snowing. The playground must have been near his school.
Anyway, Andrew was really getting into a . . . . groove (for lack of a better word) and all of a sudden a rogue mosquito came and decided to feast on him.
At least that is his explanation for things. I hope that is the reason - otherwise I have to live with the fact that I really do have odd children. Well, I know they are . . . . unique - but just randomly hitting himself in the head while playing some mean playground bongos? That would make him odd.
I am pretty confident that Harry Belafonte has nothing to worry about . . . . . .
As a proud Nana, I"ve always said, He can't be beat....beaten.....beat he can't be nevermind. xxoo mom
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