The Gift

I was making dinner last night when stepson suddenly piped up, "Oh! You and dad drink coffee! I have something for you."

Oh lordy, I thought! What in the world could he possible have in his backpack that has to do with coffee?

He plunked a baggy onto the counter. "Coffee beans!"

"No," I told him. "Those are not coffee beans."

"Oh. Well, what are they?"

"Those are pinto beans. Where did you get them?"

Is it just him, or do these totally random things happen with all little boys?

"Consuela gave them to me," he told me.

"Why? And who's Consuela?"

"She's in my class. I don't know why she gave them to me," he shrugged. "There are 100 of them, though. I counted."

"So, you have no idea why Consuela gave you 100 pinto beans?"

"No."

His sister, always ready to rat him out told me, "It's because she liiiiiiiikes him!"

"Really?" The plot thickens, which is good, because the whole baggy of beans is just way to weird for me. "So, did Consuela say why she was giving them to you? What did she say when she gave them to you?"

"I dunno. She doesn't speak English."

Great. Dead end.

He continued, "She's the only one who doesn't speak English in my class, so I don't know what she says most of the time. Nicole is the only one who understands her."

I have a hard time believing the truth in that since I know his teacher is Hispanic and speaks Spanish. And the last time I checked the school population is still 45% Hispanic. Holes in his story already.

"Okay, so what did Nicole [who happens to be my stepson's close friend] say?"

"Oh, well, she didn't say anything. Consuela just wanted me to have them."

"Really?"

"Yeeeeeeesssssss!" And then he ran off to escape more pointless questioning.

I should just get over my analytical self. A gift is a gift....unless someone can tell me what's with the baggy of 100 pinto beans.