Sitting in the No-No room

Weekends with the grandchildren in New Orleans are as varied as the city, but never dull not even when we just sit on the futon playing with the pre-schoolers while my son checks something on the computer.
His little kids enjoy every minute of their time in the forbidden “No-No” room. During a recent visit the curious squirmed into the oddest places checking for hidden treasures. The not-quite-three-year-old found a long-lost rubber ball.
The future baseball player threw the ball at his grandfather. His grandfather caught it and gently tossed it back. The ball fell between his little hands to the floor. While he was down on the floor getting that ball he found another one and tossed it at us.
“Get ready to catch. Hold your hands like this,” grandpa said.
Tiny hands formed a slide for the ball to roll down his tummy to the floor.
“No. Up more – like this.”
Little hands went up, ready to grab the ball. Grandpa threw the ball across the generation gap of a couple of feet. The little one caught the ball and grinned victoriously. He had done it! They played catch until grandpa picked up both balls and began juggling them between his hands.
Eyes widened, the little feller covered his mouth in astonishment unable to stop his peals of laughter at this miraculous sight: Grandpa could throw and catch two balls one right after the other using a hand on each ball. Unbelievable!
The adults in the room smiled: it takes so little to astonish those who have not seen much.
Grandpa looked at Daddy and threw him a ball. They tossed the two balls back and forth between them … faster and faster. Big sister and little brother simply could not believe their eyes! Two people throwing and catching two balls at the same time. The children laughed.
It’s a great party every time grandpa and grandma came. The day was filled with everything including entertainment – even if all we did was sit on the futon in the No-No room, talk and fiddle around with a couple of small balls.
After the little ones were asleep, we sat up talking quietly. A block away an outside party provided background music. We tuned it out until an increasing volume made it impossible to ignore. We heard, then saw the source of the glad shouts, blaring trombones, a tuba’s ompah, the beat of drums and the click of dancing feet – the street party had become a street parade of a couple hundred or so.
Our eyes widened, hands flew to mouths as we laughed with astonishment at this miraculous sight.
From the front porch we watched as the crowd of revelers flooded down the street, dancing, marching and singing. In the middle of the crowd a beat-up old tuba loomed over the mass of people traipsing through the neighborhood streets lead by an unseen director. We had never before seen anything like it.
They rounded the corner out of sight, the sound faded. We stepped back into the house smiling. It is an unexpected, unplanned party every time we go to visit my son’s family in New Orleans … even if all we do is sit in the No-No room, talking, juggling our attention between adults and children.