It's almost been a week now on the new job. I have email, computer access and an actual project to work on. I'm getting used to the concept of riding a bus, taking the opportunity to read Cathy Day's Circus in Winter (fantastic by the way) – and yes I know I should have read that years ago. Since when have I done anything the right way.
This morning as I sat down in my seat, I thought back to my school days and riding the bus, remembering the bus seat game. Now to different species of high school, middle school and elementary school student, the seat game takes on different parameters. For my example, we'll use the fat, sweaty nerd perspective.
Now on a bus, the fat, sweaty nerd always gets to sit in a seat by himself. It's a double edged sword, because, hey, you get a whole seat to lounge, but at the same time, the fat, sweaty nerd is also sitting there hoping they aren't so physically, acumenically and theoretically repulsive that someone – anyone – would actually entertain the idea of sitting by them should all the seats already have one occupant. Mostly a girl – any girl.
So this morning, my bus picked up thirty or so adult individuals and I must say even I play the game. Find the next available seat with no one in it and sit down. But my stop is generally the first stop, so as we pick up more riders, I watched the faces of the new entrants, seeing those profiling thoughts race across their faces, counting the open seats, scanning the riders that make for a more attractive bus pair like Noah's Ark and the most futile bus thought of all – I have no choice, I have to sit by the fat, sweaty nerd.
I mention this, because today on the way home, someone sat by the fat, sweaty nerd and she had plenty of other options.
Made my day. Because I was the sweaty, nerd. Boy that was hard to figure out.
So tonight, I actually got home and had an hour between the rain, which I unfortunately made the decision to NOT mow my lawn and take a walk with my kids and dog. That lawn will get back at me – especially since we're leaving for the weekend. I imagine genetically cloned Tyranosaurs and Brachiosaurs moving into the lush jungle of my yard over the weekend. Great. Once they move in, it's hard as hell to shoo them out.
So anyway, you know yesterday's blog I kind of hit that vein of fatherhood cheese, well, today, the cheese turned. And the dog wasn't helping either – three poops – WTH? Are they feeding you prunes? So we're walking this gravel path through the woods, past a pond and under a highway overpass. Now the rainclouds were gathering up steam, so instead of running home, I told the kids to climb the grassy hill by the bridge supports and sit under the bridge.
Of course the kids were all over that. Going off the beaten path and under a bridge! That's totally wicked!!
And it was! The girls ran up and down the cement embankment under the bridge. The dog learned to run on in a slanted environment. I taught them about graffiti tags, marking your territory and how to hold a bottle of malt liquor. I squatted there and looked at the walking path far below us and I felt like a kid again, hell I kind of wished I had a can of spray paint so I could sign off my portion of the bridge support.
So then on the way home the wheels fell off the bus. Not one, but both girls threw tantrums – mind you these are 10 and 8 year olds, tantrums should be long gone by now. It started with Jules. She wanted to stay under the bridge so she did, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the path under the bridge. So I worked out of that inning.
In the mean time, Christa responded to Julia's tantrum by calling her a hurtful name. So I gave her a stern lecture about name calling, with full-on Welvaert pointer finger waggling. Julia returns and Christa took her place, sitting down in the middle of the path, refusing to come home.
Now even the best closers in baseball have trouble going for a second inning, so I did what I do best. I picked Christa up like a sack of potatoes and hauled her off. After a while, she apologized and I gave her a piggy-back ride home.
I remember when my brother, or was it me, shit I don't remember, but one of us got mad and told Mom, “I'm outta here. I'm leaving!” And we slammed the front door as we left. At that point, Mom packed a suitcase for one of us and brought out to the curb for us. “There you go,” she said. “Have at it.”
Well, you can imagine what happened after that. Lots of blubbering and trip back in the house. When my kids pulled this tonight, I told them that if they wanted to stay, they could, but that I knew what would happen, because I pulled the same garbage when I was their age. So I told them that story about mom packing a suitcase up for me or my brother.
When I was a kid, I often thought I was WAY smarter than my folks and could outfox them at every move, but in reality the parents always have the edge because they've been there before and have done the exact same things. I often try and tell my kids this, but after 10 years of being a parent, I still don't think they believe me.
In twenty years, maybe they'll be reading this blog with their kids and finally get it.
Kids.
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