“Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy.

A kid’ll eat ivy too, wouldn’t you?”

Hi. My name is Wayne. I am sixty-four years old.

And in this moment, I realized the kid is a baby goat.

Not a child.

Not some strange little ankle biter eating decorative vines.

A goat.

All these years, that lyric sat there in plain sight wearing a fake mustache, and today the disguise finally failed.

I never said I was the brightest crayon in the box.

At best, I may be one of those crayons from the bottom.

A little worn down.

Paper peeled back.

Possibly bitten.

Nobody remembers the original color name, but somehow it still makes a mark.

And today, that mark led me to discover that the “kid” in the song was a baby goat.

At sixty-four years old.

Learning continues.