Nothing, son…
So the other day I went to retrieve The Boy from school. I entered the office where I have to sign him out, and there is a little girl sitting on the bench next to the sign-out sheet. She says Hi and I return her greeting and then I hear this familiar voice behind me that says Hi Dad.
I turn around to see The Boy perched on a chair in front of the afterschool director’s desk. This is never a good sign.
-Are you busted? I already know the answer.
-Yes.
-What did you do?
-I, uh, accidentally…
-ahem, says the director.
-Well, not really accidentally, but I sort of crashed into Clinton and he sort of crashed into the window–
-oh, Lord…
The director spoke up: We have stopped the bleeding.
-You pushed Clinton through the window?
I could imagine Clinton impaled on some huge shard of glass. Bloody and traumatized. Hospital bills and apologies to Clinton’s folks. Awkwardness at Scout meetings.
-He didn’t go through the window, Dad. Just hit his elbow on something sharp.
-But still…
-He may need stitches, added the director.
All the way home I’m at the top of my Dad Game: Blah blah blah, you had been asked to stop, blah blah, could have killed him, blah blah blah, stupid decision, blah blah, I walked to school in snow, blah blah, Peter Frampton killed rock and roll, blah blah blah, consequences of our actions, blah blah, monumental stupidity,and so on.
He was properly cowed, contrite. I was seething.
Then that night, I was watching My Name Is Earl, and when Earl and Randy were shooting bolts from a crossbow straight up in the air I was laughing hysterically, because I remember that time DG and I spent an afternoon when we were about The Boy’s age climbing up on the roof of his house with his bow and one arrow, the one that didn’t have a tip on it, and we’d pull the string back, both of us, as far as we could, and we’d launch that arrow into the neighborhood, just in random directions, and we’d watch until we couldn’t see it, and then we’d go looking for it.
This was how bright we were.
It was years before I realized that what we were doing was Really. Fucking. Stupid.
But, you know, we didn’t kill anyone. So, um, it was funny.
And then of course a bolt came back down and hit Earl, and I thought this was even funnier, because it brought home how really lucky we had been, and reminded me of other adventures we’d had, and how they’d frequently led to somebody bleeding or some neighbor on the phone to the police, and man oh man, boys will be boys, won’t they? Hahahahaha.
And when I stopped to catch my breath, I heard this familiar voice: What’s so funny, Dad?
In: I'm the Dad · Tagged with: I'm the Dad, Stupidity, The Boy
on April 23, 2008 at 8:54 am
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I can relate, especially since my story of “how mommy and daddy met” is a lesson for young people everywhere in “now, don’t try this at home.”
I appreciate the alias you gave the ‘nother kid–I have nightmares that I am being chased by a shrieking pantsuit with no person inside it.