October 8, 2006

Last Thursday I drove to pick up my kiddos from school. I signed for my kids at the school cafeteria then walked over to the playground to collect them. In a sea of blue and white uniforms I spotted my little girl Emmy darting in and out of the jungle gym. I called her name and she immediately ran over and greeted me with a tackle hug. I wiped the sweaty matted hair from her forehead and asked where was Joaquin. She pointed up to the school building and one of Joaquin's classmates offered to go get him. "That's odd," I thought, but he's always trying to do extra work and I remember telling him and Emmy to be good today so they could come with me to my volleyball game. I figured this boy was really going all out to do the extra credit. He came down and he confirmed he was doing extra work when I asked why he was up in the class room instead of playing in the school yard. We all walked hand-in-hand to my truck. As we drove away I asked how school went. There was silence and I heard a crinkle of paper.

"I had a bad day Dad, " Joaquin whispered. From the back seat he handed me a note, it was a CITATION for behavior! The citation stated that he "was constantly talking back" and had thrown his lunch when asked to go the quiet table today. My blood started to boil. I pulled the truck over and looked back at him. "Why did you do that? Didn't you realize that you had to have a good day to come to volleyball with me? What about you Emmy? Did you have a good day?" "No Daddy..." she whispered as well - barely making eye contact.

The clear blue sky I was flying in suddenly filled with anti-aircraft explosions. My plans to take them to volleyball had taken two direct hits to my tail rudder and now I was fighting to keep my plane in the sky. Audible alarms sounded and red lights lit up my control panel. I took a deep breath, counted to 10 (...or 100, I can't remember) pulled back on the yoke and gave them the dreaded parent quote, "We'll talk when we get home." I put the truck in drive, eased off the brake and silently drove home.

We got home and I told them to go change and that WE WERE NOT GOING to volleyball that night. As they walked away I blurted out, "...and clean up your rooms! If I find anything on the floor when I come to inspect, I'm throwing it away!" I called my volleyball buddies and told them I couldn't go. It just wouldn't be right. Plus Liz was at a function. I changed then walked into each of their rooms, did a quick inspection and began to dole out the punishment from the Scolding Parent Stance...you know...one hand on your hip while whipping your index finger at your child.

I walked out and then sat in the living room. Emmy's note wasn't that bad for a six year old (she was having trouble following instructions) but Joaquin's citation just blew me away. I kept trying to think of how I could teach my son not to talk back and to respect his teacher. He's a good boy and a great student but when I asked him why he did it - he gave me the standard 10 year old answer, "I dunno." I knew he was tired from our past weekend of camping and probably had not fully rested but that was no excuse. This was not the way Liz and I raised our children. So I decided some manual labor for both of them was in order. Because I couldn't think of what to make him do I had him basically stack bricks onto our back fence - two up along the sixty feet of fence. Our dog has been hitting the fence and stacking two up would deter Max from busting through it. This kept Joaquin occupied for about an hour while Emmy and I cleaned the kitchen. But what would I do for the following day?

At work the next day I had an inspiration. I wanted Joaquin to do something strenuous yet un-supervised. Digging holes or laying out the soaker hose around the house would be work but it had to be done right. Then I thought back to my childhood days and what I hated to do. That's when I had an epiphany, a moment of clarity. Growing up, I remember doing yard work WITHOUT the help of a gas edger. We had this manual tool to edge the yard - I hated it. I called my Mom and she told me she still might have that tool. She laid the phone down and after a brief moment of silence she came back and told me she did. I drove to my Mom's house that afternoon and when she walked out of the back with the manual edger in her hand...I could have sworn I saw a brief flash of light, heard the rumble of thunder...and I swear...the faint laughter of a clown. The tool was rusted and the handle was still broken with slits of weathered green paint clinging defiantly to the handle. As I took it from her hands, the air seemed to cool and goose-bumps traveled up my arm...for a brief second my Mom's smile looked evil and sinister...as if she knew what I was going to do with this evil device. The Scepter of Evil was being passed down like a ancient evil relic, awakened from it's slumber to do it's work. I kissed my Mom goodbye then placed it in the bed of my truck...too fearful to keep it in the cab with me. I thought it would come to life in the cab and cause a spectacular gruesome accident while I was driving. My grisly death would become the inspiration to some new and upcoming horror movie writer to be played out on the big screen. Although the A/C was on in my truck, I felt a trickle of sweat run down the side of my forehead as I kept glancing into the rearview mirror. I nervously laughed as I heard the Sceptre roll around in the bed of my truck. It was only 14 miles from my Mom's house to my home but it felt like an eternity. When I got home, I placed the Evil Scepter on my garage work bench and eager to put some distance between it and me, I stepped into my house and closed the door. I sat down in the living room and waited for my son to arrive...rocking in my chair, staring at the door.

When Joaquin got home, I told him to change and to meet me in the living room. "Come with me, my son," I hissed as I led him into the garage to meet the Scepter of Evil. I explained to him that this was the tool I had used when I was growing up. And after showing him how to use it - I stepped back (was I dragging my left leg?) and watched the Scepter of Evil claim another victim.....

G-man

P.S. He finished in about an hour with no worse for wear but he was tired. And don't worry...both costumes just cost too much to take back so they'll be using them this Halloween. The real question is did he learn his lesson? I think he's learned that he gets to decide if he can have fun or not by his behavior at school. And if he doesn't...Im sure my Mom has some more "tools" in the back shed.