October 13th, 2009

Day 13: Flying Bish’

Steph’s little nephew Bishop could best be described as a “bruiser.” He’s three years old now and if his strength and vigor grow correspondingly with his size, he will most certainly have a career in the NFL or possibly as The Juggernaut.

The last time he came to visit us as at our house was a little under a year ago. I had just raked and their was a large mound of leaves in the corner of our yard. Like any exuberant lad, he ran over and started playing in the pile. He would jump as high as he could, hurl himself in, and them drag himself out, laughing hysterically the whole time.

I was standing nearby, watching him do this and somehow, maybe from playing with grown-ups in a pool, he got the idea that if I were holding him, he could spring, from there, into the leaves and that this would be even more fun and hilarious. He wasn’t much on talking at this point, but one way or another he got his idea across to me.

Now I realize, at this age, most kids are tougher and more resilient than you’d think. (This is why I’m a fan of toddlers. You can grab them, shake them up, hold them upside down, etc. and they’re fine. Newborns on the other hand, you have to treat like glass cylinders of plutonium.) Still, I wasn’t sure about this proposal. I didn’t know the kid that well. Even though he was acting like he wanted me to pick him up, he could get weirded out. And there was a chance he could get hurt. Something in eyes seemed to tell me he could handle it though…and I am a champion raker. I mean this was a thick, fluffy pile. You have could dropped a Volkswagen off a five-story building into that leaf pile and it would have landed with a soft bounce, completely intact.

So cut to half-an-hour later, and I am swinging him back and forth by one leg, whirling him around in circles, twisting him around in the air, then letting go at the exact moment that maximized his altitude. And he is making crash landings and immediately coming back for more. And he is laughing harder every time. And I am laughing harder than him. And Steph and his mom are watching us and shaking their heads and rolling their eyes, as women are required to do when boys are having their rough and tumble fun. All was right with the world.

Steph’s sister Jaime and Bishop were stopping in to see all their family on the east coast during this trip. They went up to Virginia the next day, and we followed that weekend. There was some downtime the first full day we were there, so I thought “I’ll make a giant leaf pile. Bishop needs to get some energy out and I know it’s something he likes to do.”

I spent a good two hours working in the yard, sweating and straining, moving leaves from all sectors and amassing them. It was going to be worth it of course.

When I was done, I went back inside and showed Bishop what I had made out the window. He seemed sort of indifferent to it, but I thought maybe it was just because he couldn’t tell exactly what it was yet. Steph backed me up in assuring everyone that he was going to enjoy this and that this was something they might want to see. They got Bishop in his play clothes and put on his jacket, everyone put their shoes on, we all went outside, and Bishop just stood there staring at the big amorphous blob I’d created as if to say “What am I supposed to do with this, exactly?”

In retrospect, what I should have done was maybe introduce him to the pile slowly, sort of let him discover it on his own, and then make the associations with how much fun we had a few days ago, in his own time. I don’t know, I’m no child psychologist. What I do know is I abruptly snatch him off of the ground, like a sack of potatoes, and sent him somersaulting into the cushioning with a “Wheeeeeeeee!”

He plopped down, then picked up his head and shot me a look that I will never forget. It was shock, confusion, hurt, and anger all rolled into one. Then he started crying. So everyone had to come together to comfort him. And then it was “Well, thanks for raking the yard at least, Bob” and it was time to go back inside.

I stood outside a bit longer, alone and bewildered in the autumn silence. A slight breeze came through and carried a few leaves away from the top of the heap.

The moral of the story here is: you can’t go back again. Don’t force circumstances to try to make them like good times you’ve had before. There’s nothing but disappointment down that road.

That, and before you go violently throwing the youngest member of your better half’s family to the ground in front of all her relatives, make sure you’re good and married in.

Tags: 14 posts, Family, Recollections - 1 Comment »

October 10th, 2009

Day 10: Taking Turns

Early fall, I realize, is wonderful. It is when the haze lifts and the heat breaks and football starts. Still, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able disassociate it from the feeling that it’s time to surrender my freedom and begin a lengthy sentence at Gradetest McHomework State Prison.

As I think yesterday’s post revealed, sixth grade was the hardest of my academic career. Coming in a close second though, was first grade.

In the Bridgeport school district, in Michigan where I spent my early childhood, kindergarten was the, oh, say geology of the grade levels. (All we did was learn to draw the forms of each letter in the alphabet — an activity I excelled in — and to scissor out shapes along dotted lines — an activity which I’m ashamed to admit was the equivalent of…well, whatever the hardest part of geology is, for me. I got several crying-sad-faces on “cut along the lines” assignments, but I eventually mastered this skill, thanks to many well-supervised home practice projects during evenings and weekends.) What I’m trying to say here is Level-K was not treated as a full-fledged participant in my education. We didn’t even do nap time like they do in the beginning years in a lot of elementary schools, but this was only because there was no need, as we were only there for three hours. That’s right, kindergartners only attend school for a half-day.

So you can imagine my bewilderment when, once I began first grade, school went on for twice as long as I thought it would. It seemed like forever. Rather than eat lunch before or after we attended school (depending on whether one was in the morning or afternoon program that week) we consumed our food at school, in this giant room of substitute kitchen tables. This was particularly traumatic. I mean, what were we? Savages?

For months, I came home in tears. Was I really expected to submit to classroom life, for that chunk of time, five days a week?

I was never a fan of school, but somewhere along the way I at least grew accustomed to it and accepted the fact that — save 10 glorious weeks every 12 months — this was what my life was going to be like for the next 12 years and I should probably suck it up and try to get something out of it. It didn’t take me all that long to come to this conclusion, but, up until very recently, I’d remembered this as a struggle I’d made it through all on my own.

Of course this wasn’t the case. When I burst in the front door to our house, there was one person ready to accept at least a hefty portion of the weight that I had to get rid of. I was too bogged down by my problems to reflect on this at the time, but I have no doubt that during the most agonizing parts of my longest days of searching for rooms numbers and trying to comprehend math problems and being forced to socialize, this person was thinking of me and worrying about me and praying for me.

And this one person is now in the middle of the most difficult period of her life (at least in the time that I’ve known her). And, though the fact that I’d ever have to do this came as a total surprise, it’s now my turn to do the thinking and the worrying and the praying.…

And I guess it’s her turn to show me that she can get through this, and come out okay on the other end.

Tags: 14 posts, Family - 1 Comment »

October 5th, 2009

Day 5: Phoneticism Fanaticism

It’s hard to swallow, this issue. There’s something that we, as a nation, need to get out on the table. Yes, it’s time for…something, something…third eating-related expression. As we speak, there is a subset of delicious candy items that goes by a name that is being horribly butchered and distorted.

I am speaking of Reese’s. Those delightful confections produced by a division of the Hershey’s corporation.

This moniker, I think we can all agree, was chosen because “Reese” was someone’s last name. Who was Mr. or Ms. Reese? The visionary genius who first had the idea to combine peanut butter and chocolate to create a snacking experience unlike any other? I have no clue. What I do know is that you say the last name in question like this: “Ree-sss.”

I’m sorry, but it’s “Ree-sez.” They are “Ree-sez Cups” and they are absolutely “Ree-sez Pieces.”

I am at a loss as to why some folks choose to go with “Ree-sees” as their pronunciation of choice.

I guess it really bothers Kate, as she recently called both Steph and Bliss out when she heard them her utter this treat’s name.

Bliss did present a pretty good argument for the two of them when she pointed out that if you say it like that, when you say “Reese’s Pieces” the two words sound just alike. I’d never thought of it that way and the more I considered that fact, the more I realized that it is not even close to true. For it to work that way it requires “pieces” to be said “pee-sees” as in “This will be a pee-see of cake” or “Does anyone want this last pee-see of pizza?”

What was funny was how this small problem dawned on the two of them, just as Bliss finished stating their case. “I think ‘Ree-sees’ is the way it’s said. [Steph nodding emphatically.] Then when you say “pie-ces” it…will…rhyme? [Steph, no longer nodding, clearly lost in thought.]”

In conclusion, don’t listen to the Ree-see-ers of the world. Their reasoning is a complete pile of fee-sez.

Tags: 14 posts, Family, Friends, Happenings - 1 Comment »