THE LIFE OF A 3-YEAR-OLD
My grandson is a precocious 3-year-old who is so much busier than I ever remember his mom being when she was a child. Prior to a visit, we prepare our home by getting out some of his favorite toys arranged in play centers (my better half is a teacher), with our Corgi suspiciously watching the front and back door for several hours prior to the little guy’s arrival.
First thing that happens when he does get here is he pretty much becomes a force of nature, flitting from one thing to another leaving destruction in his wake (not really).
Books read? Check.
Hot Wheels played? Check.
Bug Magnifying Jar filled, viewed, and released? Check.
Pirate Guest Bed Adventure undertaken? Check.
Mud Kitchen/Water Play tackled? Check.
Dirt Box exploration completed? Check.
YouTube Marble Run/Monster Trucks/DannyGo videos watched? Check.
Straighten the house? Check
Begin it all...again!
THE ORIGIN OF “THE PURPLE CHICKEN”
As you can surmise, quiet moments throughout the day are rare. However, when tranquility does come, watching this little boy begin to understand the world through his innocent and oh-so-sweet humor is a beautiful reminder of the joys of grandparenthood, both now and in the future.
The origin of one of my most cherished moments took place right in the middle of one of those utterly bonkers days. And believe it or not, it has now snowballed into a regular occurrence for all of us.
He and I were kicked back in the family room in a recliner, a cup (spill-proof) of AE Chocolate Milk gripped tight in his little hand (he only gets it at Gamma & Papa’s).
“Papa?” he asked.
“Yes?” I replied.
“I don’t want to watch this anymore”, he said, addressing the tenth marble run video he’d requested to see (he usually has a threshold of about 4 minutes).
We then transitioned to a color matching video (“red”/”rojo!”, “yellow”/”amarillo!”) and suddenly, a chicken made an appearance in one scene, followed by a flash of purple (purpura!) hue, quite possibly resembling Lightning McQueen (only not rojo!).
At some point in our ongoing conversation, I whimsically mentioned a “purple chicken” chasing after us as we stepped outside. This playful idea was inspired by a childhood memory of sprinting from my grandmother’s front door to our car, trying to evade her roosters before they could zero in on me and launch an attack, all while I hurried to secure the car door tightly shut.
For a reason unknown, we began using the phrase “you’re a purple chicken!” randomly when one of us would do something silly or funny.
“You a purple chicken, Papa!”
“No! You’re a purple chicken!”
That turn of a phrase morphed into my thinking of using AI to bring his purple chicken to life. He loves pancakes, so I had AI create a purple chicken having pancakes with a little boy. Then he suggested Purple Chicken eating pancakes while dressed as a pirate. Then it was eating a Twix bar, and finally drinking a shake…you can guess what flavor.
THE FUTURE’S NOT ROSY…IT’S PURPLE!
Times, life experiences, and memories are transient aspects of our journey from childhood to adulthood. It is my hope that, deep within his consciousness, we will always cherish the connection we share, keeping it as precious and enduring as the bond between two purple chickens and their pancakes.
As I am making progress on the next installment of “Relentless”, I thought I’d ask Microsoft CoPilot to compose a wild west story about a boy, his grandfather and a purple chicken. Enjoy the story…and your weekend!
STARDUST PANCAKES IN THE WILD WEST
A PURPLE CHICKEN STORY
Chapter 1: The Stardust Diner
In the heart of Purple Chicken Gulch, a tiny town nestled between mesas and cacti, young Ewan and his grizzled grandpa, “Papa” Jon, ran the Stardust Diner. The sign swung in the hot breeze, its letters faded but still readable. The diner was famous for its flapjacks—thicker than a wanted poster and tastier than a gold nugget.
One morning, as the sun peeked over the horizon, Ewan stirred stardust into the pancake batter. “What’s this, Papa?” he asked, holding up the shimmering mixture.
Papa Jon squinted. “That, my boy, is the secret ingredient. Makes ’em taste like dreams.”
Chapter 2: The Purple Chicken Bandit
Just as they flipped the first pancake, a clucking sound echoed from the swinging doors. In walked a purple chicken wearing a tiny cowboy hat. Ewan’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be hornswoggled!”
The chicken strutted up to the counter. “Name’s Clyde,” he said. “I’ve been nibbling on wild berries and two-stepping under moonlight.
Ewan and Papa Jon exchanged glances. “You’re welcome to join us,” Jon said. “But why are you purple?”
Clyde fluffed his feathers. “Got caught in a grape juice stampede. Happens more often than you’d think.”
Chapter 3: Pancake Showdown at High Noon
As they sat at the worn wooden table, plates stacked high with stardust pancakes, the room buzzed with magic. The pancakes tasted like adventure and a hint of sagebrush. Clyde clucked a cowboy ballad, and Ewan’s eyelids grew heavy. He dreamed of riding pancake ponies through canyons, chasing bandits made of syrup with Clyde, the Purple Chicken.
At high noon, the swinging doors burst open. The notorious outlaw, Buttermilk Bill, stood there, holstering a syrup gun. “Hand over them flapjacks!” he growled.
Ewan and Papa Jon exchanged determined glances. Clyde flapped onto the counter. “Not so fast, Bill. These pancakes are under our protection.”
A showdown ensued—the smell of butter, the sizzle of syrup, and the clatter of forks. Buttermilk Bill was no match for the stardust-powered cowboys. He surrendered, licking his lips. “Fine, you win.”
And that, my friends, is the beginning of the Legend of the Purple Chicken!
NOW IT’S YOUR TURN
If I may indulge you with a completely whimsical tale of a grandfather and his 3-year-old grandson, a cherished moment in my life, surely you could reciprocate with one of your own. Join our community and ignite your passion by sharing your own story!
Have a great and blessed weekend!
“Papa” Jon
MOTEVENTURE 