It’s funny how kids can notice things us adults can miss even though it’s staring us right in the face.

My youngest son Henry is the perfect example, his keen eye catching stuff that I just pass by and don’t notice. I was reminded of this when I brought Henry for his first visit to Smithville since I started here last month.

“Hey Henry, do you want to go see daddy’s new office?” I asked as we headed home from church while hiding my ulterior motive of doing some work here. The hyperactive red-head eagerly accepted my offer as he was already bored with spring break and looking for an adventure.
So, we roll into town and Henry is looking around, seeing stuff for the first time. Everything seems fine and dandy until we arrive at the Review. It’s at that point Henry starts acting weird.

“What’s wrong little buddy?” I ask him as he is right on my heels as I walk in the door and back to my office. “I brought your scooter. We’ve got a big parking lot. Why don’t you go out and skate around?”

Henry shook his head. “No. I’ll stay in here with you,” he says, not leaving my side as I sit down at my desk.

“Suit yourself,” I respond as I checked my messages and got ready to file a story.

Anyway, I work for a few minutes and then, out of the corner of my eye, notice Henry peeking through the blinds at something and then looking nervously at me. He keeps doing this for a few minutes, his persistence reminding me of Lassie when Little Timmy fell into the well.
“Okay Henry. What is it?” I finally give in. “Something has got you acting all squirrely.”

Without a word, Henry points out the window. “That,” he says in an ominous tone.

My curiosity piqued, I walk over and look through the blinds.

“It’s a graveyard,” Henry hisses, standing several feet behind me as if something were going to get him.

Something about Henry, he’s scared to death of graveyards and ghosts. He will stiffen up anytime I even drive past a cemetery. There’s actually a shortcut I take to my gym back in McMinnville but there’s a graveyard located on it.

“Daddy. Make sure to take the long-cut,” Henry always reminds me before I leave for the gym, not wanting me to drive past that cemetery.
This incident Sunday gave me another chance to assure him there’s nothing to fear when it comes to cemeteries.

“There’s no such things as ghosts,” I tell him. “That’s movie stuff.”

“Then they’re angels?” he asks all wide-eyed.

“Well, that depends,” I smirked. “Regardless, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Actually, in my case there is something to be afraid of. I’ve been working here for a month and I never once noticed the big cemetery outside my window. You can’t miss it but somehow Henry’s observation was news to me. Maybe that’s a sign to me to slow down and notice things.

Contact Duane Sherrill at news@smithvillereview.com