T

tantrum turned tranquil.

The boy was throwing a huge hissy fit in the park on a gorgeous late August morning.  

After a pleasant excursion to the library (loot: a classic Peanuts collection) Mom decided to detour to the park for a quick stroll before heading home to lunch.  So they walked, brother and friend up ahead and unfazed.  Geese hanging about.  The playground overflowing with shrieking sunny children.  Workers resting in the shade.  A lone jogger circling round and round.

The boy cried.  He hung and swung about on Mom's bag and arm.  Occasionally, he screamed.  He called her a liar.  And continued to walk.  Every time Mom quietly asked if he wanted to hold her hand death grip released and dead weight shifted to reach for her hand.

Brother and friend broke away to take a short cut across the hot grass.  They agreed to wait for them on the bridge.

The boy stayed close and turned the volume down as he realized they were on the return arc.  That was when Mom saw the T.  They stopped to inspect this favorable, if peculiar, sight.  T is the first letter of the boy's name.  Mom's delight was contagious and he started to smile.