“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.
