My daughter and I spent an hour or so at the Lariat, Grand Lake's premier bar. The Lariat is the very definition of "hole-in-the-wall", its walls plastered with posters, photos, old Grand Lake defunct business signs. Every item has a story, just ask the old guy with his own pool cue or the other old guy in the ten-gallon with a feather, or His Honorable Old Guy, the mayor (hotly contested, but that's a post for another day).
Anyway, it's a kid and dog friendly place, and it was kinda crowded because of the Indy 500 and as the bartender hammered back shots and Bob brought me my Coors Diet, my kid was eating a chocolate-with-rainbow-sprinkles ice cream cone.
One guy teased her about sharing the ice cream. She looked at him in all seriousness--nothing fixes you with a better stare than dark brown eyes--and pointed. "It's from the new place across the street."
The bartender gave her cherries in her Sprite without her asking.
She had her Troy Lee Designs motocross jersey on. Two guys gave her that chin-up reverse nod that guys give an equal. "Cool jersey, kid. What do you ride?"
"Honda fifty with training wheels." (Her father taught her that.)
Another guy at the bar cleaned his pockets, counted out the quarters and gave her about two bucks worth for Big Elk Hunt and Love Boat Pinball.
Another guy, the next day's Parade Marshal, gave her a wee furry bunny and a button that said: Deputy Parade Marshal.
And after all that, she looked at me and asked, "Momma, how do you make grown-up friends?"
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