It is a school day morning, early November, 1982 . The kids have been at my house for the past few days. Brett, age 13, rises early, around five AM, whereas sister Ash, 11, must be dragged out of bed.
Brett starts working on things right away; first homework, then hair, all between phone calls. By seven, I am up, adding my two cents to the morning mix. The first thing I do is to get Ash moving, and then I go downstairs to make breakfast and sandwiches for lunch.
Doubtless, my lunches differ from many. Very health foody here.
I hear Brett talking to Ashley, “Hurry up Ash, I get detention if I’m late.”
No comment from Ash. I’m guessing that detention is a big girl (6th grade) thing.
I yell up, to anyone, “What kind of sandwich do you want?”
Brett responds, “What kind of bread do you have?”
Immediately I sense a predicament. I pause my words, for I know what she is thinking. I have only whole wheat bread; and worse, it’s from the health food store, the organic variety. I know if I say, “only whole wheat”, she’ll say, “forget it, I’ll borrow lunch.” I change subjects, “But what do you want - Peanut butter or cheese and tomato?” I am proud that they have both accepted the switch to natural peanut butter, no sugar
Again the reply, “What kind of bread do you have?”
I give up. Reluctantly I admit it. “Whole wheat,” I say, but I say it overly enthusiastically as if whole wheat is the greatest thing since … well … since sliced bread.
“I don’t want a sandwich.”
I’m not sure which one shouted that but it was just as I predicted.
Now I am forced to initiate what might be called a more lively debate (lecture) during which time I will try to persuade and educate my daughters about the merits of whole grain bread and healthy eating. I proceed with this but if something sinks in, I am unaware. Then suddenly to my surprise Brett suggests a compromise. She’ll take the Peanut Butter, but she’s going down the street to a neighbor’s house to borrow some white bread.
“Whatever,” I say - not pleased. I just hope that she doesn’t come back with Skippy Peanut Butter too.
As she leaves Ash yells, “Brett, get me two slices too.”
In a short while, Brett returns with four slices of white bread and I accept them without comment and spread the natural peanut butter and all fruit jelly. I add a banana to each bag and a peeled carrot. Good nourishment I think to myself. I don’t ask if either daughter wants the carrot or the banana.
Time moves along. I fix breakfast for Ash and call up to Brett who is putting the final touches on the hair, and making a last minute phone call to a classmate, “Brett did you have breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“What did you have?”
“Honey Nut Cheerios with foul disgusting, grossining skim milk.” Grossining is her word. It’s not in the dictionary. It means gross, or really gross - i.e. bad.
My food is not a hit this A.M. More minutes go by. Finally we’re ready, almost.
“Lets go, lets go!” Brett says, to me.
“Yes we’re ready,” I say, “As soon as I find my keys.”
Brett goes to the car while I look around the house.
“Can we go!” Ash says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, “I’m looking for my keys.” I notice Ash is quite loaded down with books cradled in her arms. “That’s quite a pile of books you have there, want me to show you a good way to carry them? Just wait a minute.”
I dash upstairs and grab my web belt from the closet. I present it to Ashley and tell her that she can strap the books together and then sling them over her shoulder. I demonstrate with the belt alone. “Like this,” I say throwing the belt over my shoulder.
Ash looks up at me, not impressed. “No thanks Dad.”
“Why not? That’s good, they don’t all fall apart like this, and it’s a good way to carry them. I used to always carry books like this, in college even.” I deftly strap together three books and demo again, this one live. “Watch, I say, flinging the books skyward. They clear the right shoulder; arch nicely and crash, a hardback corner piercing into high area of my back that I believe is called the scapula. I wince, but quickly force a smile. “See?” I say, smiling broadly now.
“That’s O.K. dad,” she says. Neither the college thing nor the live demo impress her.
I cannot understand this. I used to love carrying my books like that – especially in college. But there is no use, I know. I am dispirited, but I try to let it go. “O.K., O.K. Anyway my keys are really lost this time.”
“They’re not lost,” Ashley says. Strangely this actually makes me feel better.
“Yes. They’re lost. Really, really lost. That’s it. I’ve looked everywhere.” My thinking here is that if I overly exaggerate the certainty of the lost keys, the Gods will descend and prove me wrong. Trust me, it has happened.
“Dad, they’re not lost.”
“Well then where are they?”
“All right, you want me to find them?” she says, and sets down her books joining the search.
I really am convinced that they are lost beyond hope. I have looked everywhere. I dare the Gods to prove me wrong. Brett, from the car in the driveway, toots the horn twice. I open the front door to tell her about the keys, but just before I speak I hear Ashley’s admonishing voice, “Dad!” she says, and I know she has found the keys. Somehow the kids always find the keys.
“What?” I say in my trying-to-sound-perplexed voice.
“Where did you put them?” she says.
“Ash! If I knew where I put them I wouldn’t have been looking all around.” I know that this is an old joke, but I still like the sound of it and I reason that at 11 and 13, they haven’t heard it too often. I could be wrong.
“They’re right here,” she says and points to my keys resting atop the thermostat on the living room wall.
“Yeah, well, I put ’em there so I won’t forget to turn down the heat before we leave. See?”
I turn down the heat. “Good idea, huh? See, this way we can’t leave …”
“Dad!” Again the admonishing tone.
“O.K., you ready? Let’s go.” I check the heat again, making a point. Then out we go.
“I’m done for,” Brett says as we climb into the car.
“Yeah, we know all about it, major detention right?”
“Yes,” says Brett, not amused. “What took you so long?”
I don’t answer. We’re on our way now, and to me it looks like we have plenty of time, actually.
As we drive I notice a flock of blackbirds performing wide loops high above and against the sky ahead of the car. Strangely I’m also aware that my own music cassette is still playing, not the usual kid-favorite, blasting radio stations, but instead Louis Armstrong is singing, “It’s a wonderful world.” I swear that the birds rise and fall in time with Louie’s song. My mind drifts gently to birds, how they sing to greet each day. Apparently we humans are not sure why birds sing so, but maybe it’s something like kids jabbering away in the schoolyard, before school. As with the children in the schoolyards, the birds do this every day and they usually finish in about a half hour also.
I offer a few comments. “You know arriving late to you guys means not getting to school at least a half hour before the bell. This is because you want to socialize, get everything rolling; you know, see your friends, find out what’s new etc."
No response from the kids.
I continue, "So do you ever listen to a schoolyard from a distance? With every kid putting his two cents in, all the screeching sounds like just what birds are doing when you hear them early every morning, chirping away in the trees. Don’t you think you’re just like the birds?”
I reiterate, “They usually go on for about a half hour also.” I pause for a reaction.
Ashley seems unmoved, looking straight on.
“You love that,” Brett says.
It occurs to me that I have never been happier than I am right now.
No comments:
Post a Comment