A Real-Life Finn

 No, not someone from Finland. A fictional character, and not Mark Twain's. The manuscript I just submitted to the publisher has a little boy in it named Finn McGrath, a slightly wild child with utter self confidence and an impish sense of mischief. I generated him entirely from my own imagination. And then I met him in person, living next door to the church.

I recognized him right away, with a great deal of delight. I don't know his real name. I think it's Andy or Avery or something like that. He looks 10 or 11 years old, and he wanders barefoot and shirtless around the church grounds without compunction, happily ignoring his mother's shouts to "Stay out of their yard!" I've seen him swimming in the irrigation ditch, and sometimes I see him in the company of a young girl, but in general he is solitary. He has long blond hair that looks wavy, as if it would be curly if he cut it, and he is not shy in the least about asking questions or taking us to task for changing what he clearly views as his property.

Last time I was at the church, he asked me why we had torn up the grass, and I could tell from his tone that he disapproved. I explained that we hadn't wanted to, but that we had had to fix a leak in the basement, and that the grass would grow back. Then he asked me if I needed a certain piece of plywood I was using to help cover the open trench dug for the propane line. I explained its purpose in its present location, and added that this was a construction site and probably not a safe place for him to be, considering the open ditch full of wires. Whereupon he came closer to peer at the wires. He explained in some detail that he wanted the board to block the exit route for the feral cats he was trying to capture, under the shed behind his townhouse complex. He had already caught one to give to the lady in townhouse 4, and he wanted to catch the rest to take to the Humane Society. I ended up setting the board aside for him to use.

I had severely pruned back an overgrown bridal-wreath spirea, piling the branches aside, and once again he had something to say about it. He asked if I was going to throw it all away. I explained that the plant was dead underneath and needed a haircut, just like people do. Though he likely hasn't had a haircut in his life and didn't grasp the metaphor. I did give him the empty bird nest I found in the bush, which intrigued him for about two minutes before he lost interest and squashed it.

I also commented that someone had let their dog on our lawn and hadn't cleaned it up, so he may want to watch where he stepped with his bare feet. He nonchalantly informed me that it had been his dog. I suggested he get a bag and clean up after it. He cheerfully ignored me and continued to chase the wild cats.

I don't want to discourage his curiosity or boldness. He's a refreshing kind of kid, in a Huck Finn sort of way, and now when I read my manuscript again, I'll picture him in the role. The little kid next door will one day be the teenager next door, and I foresee a time when it will be a good idea to have him on our side. I suspect he could be a formidable (if passive-aggressive) enemy, so it's best to make him a friend. I could hire him to be the groundskeeper or security guard, so that he still feels he belongs in this place we have so rudely purchased out from under him. Besides, how often do you find kids who live outdoors in such connection to the earth? There isn't enough of that. His brio makes me instantly like him. Maybe he'll be a character in my next book, something for readers his age. The Warrior of Warwick. That has a ring to it.