...this one is miniature...

My grandchild is thrilled a very large family, a Black and white family like us, with lots of children – including one boy who will be turning 11 also this month – has encamped across the narrow road from our campsite. They have played non-stop since the adults pulled their camper van in to the space and began to set up.

Mujasi comes running over as I’m cooking us dinner to beg me to allow him to go to the miniature golf course with Aaron.

My heart sinks. He is so happy to have friends his age yet I’m opposed to golf on at least two grounds: one the impact on Mother Earth, and two how can you come to a wonderful place like this and want to play fuckin golf.

I ask if he can’t suggest something different like riding bikes or going for a hike or searching for shells on the beach.

He shakes his head at every idea, saying they don’t want to, they want to play miniature golf.

I tell him I’m thinking. He’s hopping up and down, telling me how much he REALLY wants to go with his new friends.

I relent and tell him okay. He jumps into the camper and throws his arms around me, thanking me profusely.

Then he makes me sooooo proud as he says “Grandmother, I know how bad golf courses are, how much water they waste and pesticides they use, but this one is miniature. So please don’t worry that much.”