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Yesterday, I stopped at the Kroger store in Jefferson to pick up a few things.

The store has been open for several years now. In truth, Kroger became the retail and social hub of Jefferson the day it opened. It’s the one place in town where, sooner or later, you’ll run into everyone you know.

I found the items I wanted, cruised back to the front of the store, and got in a checkout line.

While I was waiting, a man pushing a fully-loaded shopping cart passed nearby, on his way to the exit. He paused a few feet away and looked back over his shoulder.

Lagging a few too many paces behind were his two children. One was a small, delicate girl of about five. The other was a boy, slender and shaggy-haired, a few years older.

“Guys!” the man barked, “Keep up!”

The girl lagged behind because with every step, she was carefully placing her feet heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe, marking the paces. One of her shoelaces was untied and trailing behind her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She cradled a loaf of bread in her arms and was humming to herself.

The boy lagged behind because he was intently focused on the small electronic device of some kind in his hand. His eyes never left the screen. He appeared to be following his father by sound, not sight.

When Dad called out to them, the girl picked up speed. The boy waggled a hand in acknowledgement without looking up and continued at the same pace.

A few seconds later, the man stopped and turned toward them again.

“Hey!” he said. “Y’all come on! Stay with me!”

This being a repeat command, both kids immediately responded. The girl raced a few steps forward. The boy looked up from his electronic device and did the same. Satisfied, Dad continued pushing the cart toward the exit.

As soon as his back was turned, both children stopped.

The boy stopped in order to get reoriented to whatever he was doing on the electronic device.

The girl stopped because her brother was standing on the shoelace trailing behind her. She couldn’t move her right foot.

“Christopher!” the girl yelled. “Get off!”

Christopher stood with his back to her, absorbed in the electronic device.

She tried to yank the shoelace free, to no avail.

“Christopher!” she yelled again. Christopher didn’t respond.

So she acted. In one smooth motion, she transferred the loaf of bread to her left hand, gripped it by the twist-tie end, and swung it in a mighty back-handed arc, smacking her brother in the back of the head.

The loaf of bread impacted Christopher’s head with an audible whack. He hunched his shoulders, ducked his head, and stumbled forward a step. The shoelace came free.

By the time the boy recovered and turned around, his sister had returned the loaf of bread to the cradled position and was skipping forward to catch up with Dad.

Christopher looked bewildered.