Listening in on half the conversation proved both entertaining and enlightening.
I've said before that eight is a sweet, sweet age. Kolbe has a dozen passions - and spying is one of them. Several years ago I stumbled upon a rough spy manual he had penned. Among the instructions:
1. Dress in black.
2. Find a clue.
3. Find a ihding (sic) place.
4. Check if the coast is clear.
6. Use your binoculars.
Kolbe is a visionary, a dreamer, a schemer, a planner. Two summers ago he was bent on making a movie. He is perpetually in the middle of writing a new book. In May he began construction on a castle.
Like visionaries through the ages - from Christopher Columbus to Henry Ford - Kolbe keeps hitting one perpetual roadblock: financing.
So it is with the spy gear. Kolbe and his buddy discuss the merits of laser guided trip wires and sunglasses with hidden cameras. And then the conversation turns to dollars and cents.
They discuss pooling their paltry allowances, having a lemonade stand, or waiting until the fall to offer leaf raking services. The lemonade stand seems the most promising option. They begin debating whether to have one or two stands. Kolbe is obviously in favor of a single supplier.
"People wouldn't know which stand to go to," I hear him share. "Then there would be a price war."
They discuss prices with all the moxie of oil sheiks fixing the price of a barrel of crude. This lemonade cartel is destined for greatness.
"I've got a brilliant idea," Kolbe modestly shares.
I continue to listen as they dream and scheme with the unbridled joy and excitement that is age eight. I love this age, and I love my one-of-a-kind Kolbe.