Part monkey, part mole

A little boy and his mom came in through the third-base side. She sat down on the bench in the dugout and opened a book. He came running across the infield and hopped up onto the chain-link fence next to where I was hanging from the crossbar above the first-base dugout, doing pull-ups.

He climbed up until his feet were higher than twice his own height, then he plopped down and, without pause, squatted and started digging in the dirt with his fingers, as if that were the very next impulse that popped into his head. If it hadn’t, he might have kept climbing. Who knows how high.