The kid crawled over on the patch of public grass (the smallest of National Parks) to put a fistful of earthworms next to me. Why ME? I'm minding my own business. On vacation. I still can't think about visiting Howard Finster's Paradise Gardens without that little "Hey! Mister!" kid following me around in areas that were not exactly structurally sound. No waiver was signed. I was constantly trying to ditch that kid! Here we go again. Worms now. When will it stop? Some, the circumference of a pack of Lifesavers. Dang. These worms eat good. I was sitting on the ground and I never get comfortable sitting on the ground. I also hated Duck Duck Goose. I'm not a fan of most games played with others. Now, this. Not the worms ... as for the worms I am much obliged. Worms are cool. If the credits had been just worms, then so be it. As a child there was a spot in the woods, just over the fence, where we could barely scrape and a whole seepage of wigglers would arrive. That was then. Simpler times, so they say. Rather, it's the child here in front of me now that I can't quite get behind. I'm nervous. Whose kid even is this? Like keeping a loose kid or cat from running into traffic, I felt a strange responsibility as a man of a certain age. Instincts. Guilt. Ethics. Good citizenry. Getting caught on camera. Call it what you will. So, there we sat. But I soon began to worry about this kid sitting next to me. Should I try to match him up with the various pockets of people around me? People just minding their leisurely business like I just was? To top it off, I'd be bringing worms into the equation! Also, would someone accuse me of stealing this kid? NO. Absolutely not. Time is passing. My vacation will be over before I know it. The grass beneath me was forming a mo(i)st perfect impression of worrisome buttocks. There is a small woman walking around a little anxiously. I wonder if she belongs to this kid, and the kid to her. She scoops it up. The kid. No questions asked. They seem like a match! No longer my problem! Phew. Dodged a huge one. But now I must interact and make small talk. Okay, this may be worse. I'm actually less equipped to make small talk with grown people. We poke around in the variety pile of worms the kid had gifted me. Why not? I mean, the conversation invites itself: WORMS, huh? The kid still clutched them ... and I mean clutched to the point some bits of worm were breaking off, creating even more worms. He was destroying and creating all in one. Biblical! A few worm pieces spilled to the ground, their natural habitat. Can you imagine (your whole) being clutched in a child's hand? And here I detest the backs of sticky church pews. Let me grasp worms on the other six days, I guess? With an update in company around my own age, a couple of these worms now looked like suggestive lady parts (I dared not say this out loud but I'm pretty sure we were both thinking it) and we both determine them to be leeches, not worms, and leave them be. She asked what other kinds of animals were native to this park. I shrugged and said, "Rattlesnakes." I then became concerned because we were lounging in the grass. There could be snakes everywhere. Thankfully, we were not in Texas. However, she thought this was awesome and started poking around the shrubbery. What a lunatic! I then directed her attention to a medium-sized, much more manageable (I think), creature on a bare patch of the lawn, "They also have lizards."