Family
Embarrassment is Inevitable
I have to laugh when I hear the language of parents unexpectedly streaming out of the mouths of their children. If you want to know how parents react to life, just wait for the toddlers to start talking; they’ll tell ya. Embarrassment goes hand in hand with the parenting of our children. It’s unavoidable. Sometimes we get away with just a smidgen of it, but other times…there’s no place to hide. Nothing is sacred!
We were having dinner at our friends’ house one evening. We had met Gary and Linda at church. They were older than we were and had no kids at home. We had three at home and were fully engulfed in our adventure. Gary had the most unbelievably infectious laugh. It was a deep, rumbling from the gut, house shaking, conversation stopping belly laugh. Anyone who heard it, loved it. It didn’t matter where he was or what was happening at the time. If it was funny to him, he laughed, and then everyone else laughed.
Gary and I were relaxing in their livingroom. The ladies were prepping in the kitchen, and the kids were playing here and there. Gary was sitting in his easy chair and I was sprawled on my belly on the carpeted floor. I remember being tired and the soft carpet felt delicious. It was a great opportunity to doze a little before dinner and relax from my hectic schedule.
As I lay there I remember feeling a bit bloated. That “gassy” feeling that we all get from time to time. I knew that once dinner was announced I would excuse myself and briefly step outside. The carpet was so alluring I simply didn’t want to get up until I absolutely had to. Hindsight would say differently.
I can only imagine how inviting it must have been for Abbey as she saw me there on the floor. Abbey is our third child and second daughter, and she was as cute as they come. There has never been a mean bone in her body. Seeing me spread out on the floor looked like a normal part of our wrestling ritual and was too good to pass up. So without so much as a, “How do you do?” Abbey came up from behind and jumped squarely on my lower back. There was an immediate and explosive response.
Yep. You guessed it. I farted. This was no light duty sissy fart either. This was the kind that was supposed to happen to other people so you could laugh at them, and never…ever… while visiting at someone elses home. Sorry folks, but it was a cannon-shot, and I was suddenly flushed and bright red in the face.
That was all it took for Gary. He let out one of his famously instantaneous belly roars. He laughed and laughed and laughed. The house shook and still he couldn’t stop himself. Now everyone was laughing because it didn’t matter where you were in the house when it happened. Everyone heard it.
Why is it that when something like that happens there are so many things that zip through your mind in a flash?
Maybe I can pretend it didn’t happen. Was it really that loud and obvious? Do I come up with a snappy comeback? I should just play dumb like I don’t know what anyone is talking about.
Nope! This was one of those “no place to hide” moments. I was caught dead-to-rights. So, I did what everyone else was doing at the time. I started laughing at myself and this harshly embarrassing moment. There was nothing else to do. This took the notion of “getting to know people on a personal level” far beyond where it was ever meant to go.
It was a good lesson for me. I have a tendency to take myself too seriously. It’s a great mile post that I can look back on when I’m in that “oh so serious” mode of mine. Note to self: laugh with those who laugh, especially if you are the one caught in the cross-hairs of embarrassment.
There would be other moments to come because embarrassment is inevitable for parents. Ask me how I know? Go ahead…ask me, I double dog dare ya.
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“And it’s a bunch!”
Parents have opportunities in life that are unparalleled. You know as well as I that our kids can catch us flat-footed at any time. My dad has stated more than once over the years, “There’s no manual that comes with kids when they’re born.”
In some ways I agree with that statement, but will certainly offer up that, manual or no manual, there are those moments for which we are dismally unprepared. It’s hard enough at times to know what to do, but when your kid does something so audacious that all you want to do is laugh, it makes disciplining them nearly impossible.
Such was the case in the fall of 1986 . We had just recently moved to the Columbia River Gorge area. We were busy settling into the new home, the new job, and the new church. We had spent the last four years working in a small church on the coast of Washington state. That was the only church experience Annie had known. Our new church was larger in comparison. Regardless, Annie was undaunted.
One fine Sunday morning we went downstairs to the church basement and picked Annie up from Sunday School/Children’s Church like usual. She was her bubbly self and wanted to show us what she had found in her classroom. To our surprise Annie proudly presented us with a pile of money.
“Where did you get that?” Marm asked her.
“I found it in my classroom,” was her honest reply.
“Where in your classroom did you find it?” Marm persisted.
“It was in a little box-shaped like a church,” she piped happily.
Our daughter had just pilfered the Sunday School class offering and was pleased as punch about it.
Marm and I exchanged quick looks and whispers asking ourselves, “What are we supposed to do now?”
We determined that it wasn’t a huge deal since it was done in complete innocence. Yet, it was important enough to be addressed, after all she did rip-off the class offering. Having quickly decided how to handle it we chatted with our pastor and brought him into the loop. He agreed to talk with Annie about what she had done.
There we were standing in his office. Annie was in front of us with her back to us, and couldn’t see our faces. The pastor was facing Annie and we could see his face clearly as he talked with her.
Pastor Greg very gently explained, “You know Annie, it isn’t right to take things just because we see them. The things we see belong to other people and it’s important that we leave those things where we found them.” He further explained ,”God loves us and doesn’t want us to do that to other people because it’s stealing, and stealing is wrong.” I thought it was going quite well, then he asked her, “Annie, did you take the money out of the little church box in your Sunday School classroom?”
Annie was simply beaming as she stated excitedly, “Yes, I did… and it’s a bunch!”
Marm and I sharply caught our breath at this point stifling our cries of surprise. We pursed our lips together so hard it hurt and were visibly shaking as we kept ourselves from laughing out loud. I was starting to sweat from the effort.
Poor Pastor Greg could see us clearly from where he stood and was helpless to do anything since he had to maintain that touch of seriousness so needed to make his point. Seeing him pretending not to be affected by her answer made it all the worse for us as we tried to hold it together. By now, tears were streaming down our faces and our hands covered our mouths.
Once he was done and Annie had handed over the contraband we all hugged each other and laughed hysterically. “Can you believe she said that,” was all we could say to each other.
Where do our kids come up with this stuff? I’m at a complete loss. On the flip side, it does serve as a good reminder for me. Don’t take things so seriously that I forget to laugh at life a little.
“And it’s a bunch!” What a line.
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Playing Opossum
“Just wait until your father gets home!” was a line Martha never used on our children. Early on in our marriage we had discussed how important it was that the kids look forward to me coming home. We believed that statements like that would create the opposite effect. Looking back I think we were right.
During the early “daycare” years it was very common for there to be “rent-a kids” still on site when I rolled in from my work day. It was also inevitable that as soon as I stepped through the door the kids wanted to wrestle. Most often this would include three to six kids all slobbering over themselves in the hope of literally jumping up and down on me.
Some of my fondest memories are from these times. We’d all roll around on the floor tangled in huge human knots for the better part of half an hour. Giggles, laughter, and the occasional high-pitched scream were the language of the moment. Dickens was right. “These were the best of times.”
I did have an infrequent problem when it came to these wrestling matches however. Some days I was simply exhausted. I don’t mean that end of the day weariness that was the norm. No, this was different. I was literally too tired to play. On top of that, I knew I was grumpy. That’s the worst. I have a mean grumpy.
It was hard to turn them down even on days when I felt like this. It was impossible to say no to those eager little faces. Yet, I knew it was only a matter of time before my grumpy was going to get the best of all of us. I really didn’t want that to happen. Thank the Lord, the answer presented itself rather simply one day.
I gave in to the usual requests and begging to be the target of their assault. I lay down on the living room floor waiting for the ritual sounds of running feet, the short silence that came while they were airborne, and the sudden shock on impact that usually sent them tumbling off the other side of my pummeled body. What usually followed was me slowly rising like a monster from the deep and chasing after them. This day I didn’t move. I lay there still as stone. The sudden silence in the room was proof that this was something new, and uncertain. It was a challenge not to smirk.
The whispers began immediately.
“What’s your dad doing?” asked David
“Don’t know,” answered Aaron.
At this point all the kids began to talk to me, trying to get me to chase them. Nothing happened. I was still and silent with only one eye slit open ever so slightly. I could hear them sneaking closer.
“Touch him. I think he’s dead,” said one of them.
I felt a tentative poke from a foot on my foot. Then I felt a firmer tap from another foot against my side. More pokes came as their confidence rose. Suddenly there were kids all over the top of me punching, pulling, kicking and I even got a bite from one of them. Still I lay motionless and silent.
They were scared now. The pleading began for me to wake up. They began to think I might really be dead. I was surprised that they hadn’t lost interest yet. I guess I figured they would soon, so I did the unexpected at this point. I reached out suddenly and grabbed an ankle tightly in my hand. The shriek from David was heart-felt. I’d totally scared the pants off the little bugger. He squealed and squirmed. wriggled and twisted while hollering for help from his stunned friends. They all grabbed him and started pulling against my hold, or grabbed my hand and tried to unbend my fingers. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing and ruin the effect.
Then, just as suddenly I released my hold and went limp again. Now it was game on for real. The kids loved it. It became a favorite for all of us. What they didn’t know at the time was that all I was doing was getting some much-needed rest while I lay there on the floor. To them I was playing dead. For me I was simply sleeping or close to it anyway.
I had tripped over the answer and it worked brilliantly. The grumpy had been defeated and one of our favorite games invented simply by playing opossum.
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Out of the Mouth of Babes
I’ve found that “truth” is often spoken from the least likely of people and can catch me off guard. It causes me to pause, or in some instances takes my breath away completely. None-the-less it is still the “truth”. I remember vividly one such moment in our family adventure that rocked my world.
It was a normal Sunday morning when the three older kids were little. I was a part-time associate pastor on staff at our local church at the time. My responsibilities there were varied and shall we say, plentiful. My internal pressure to have it together and be on time was a constant nag. A great stress creator.
We were all getting ready to go to church like usual. The pitch was fevered. The rush was apparent. It was that typical Sunday morning frenzy. So much energy being spent in getting all of us ready. After all it was the “big” event. The chaos was palpable. There were only 5 of us at the time, but it might as well have been 50. Trying to get us all moving in the same direction in a timely manner was like herding cats. It was never going to happen.
I know I’m not the only one to experience this ritual. So many of you reading this know exactly what I am talking about. You could write this post yourself. And here’s the kicker. As those dedicated to the religious it is almost our God given duty to blame this chaos on Satan himself.
“The devil just wants to mess up our day! God has great things for us and Satan is mad about it.” can be a commonly offered rational for the mayhem. Never mind that my internal pressure is building because I have an over exaggerated religious sense of obligation hanging over me. After all, we are staff so we have to get this together. People will be watching!
So, all the while as we are “herding the cats” there is a sharpness in my voice, frustrated stares in my eyes, impatience in my posture, all giving off a definite sense that the kids are the problem here. They should know better by now. We go to church every Sunday! This isn’t new!
Come on people. Get it together! This was my state of mind at the time.
Well, in spite of everything to the contrary, we did eventually aim ourselves in the same direction. We headed out the door and up the steps to the mini-van. We’re all getting ourselves situated; strapping in the kids to various car seats and boosters. Snugging down the seat belts and making sure we had accounted for everyone. Martha and I took our seats and did the same. As I started the van I turned and said to the kids over my shoulder,
“Smile everybody.”
And out from the back seat came the reply from our dear sweet Annie,
“Why Daddy? We aren’t at church yet.”
And… there it was in all its unadulterated glory.
In that one simple honest question the truth had been unearthed. The lie had been unmasked. It felt like I was just sucker punched in the gut. I was teaching my children to be religious. Simply put, what things look like are more important than the truth. Ouch! Having people think we had it together was more important than how I actually was treating my own family. If there was ever a good time to swear, that would have been it.
Truth is truth plain and simple. Its source doesn’t change it, even when it comes from out of the mouth of babes.
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Set Depth at 350 Feet
“Sonar contact bearing 010. Orders Captain?”
Like a familiar smell that triggers a distant memory those words plunge me back in time. Huddled around a small 14″ color TV hooked up to the 5″ floppy disk drive and in turn to the keyboard, we sat mesmerized. We were guiding our Seawolf class submarine loaded with Harpoon and Tomahawk missiles and a full complement of Mark 48 torpedoes into enemy waters. It was dangerous and required complete concentration. A single misguided command, or worse, a wrong keystroke and we were headed to the bottom. Here we sat side by side for hours at a time; father and 10 year old son shoulder to shoulder searching the ocean for enemy targets.
I’m certain that when author Tom Clancey wrote his novel Red Storm Rising he didn’t have my son and me in mind. I don’t know if he had envisioned a Commodore 64 based video game built around his story either. Regardless, this game was the source of endless hours of fun for us.
I can still see us laying on our bellies or sitting cross-legged on Aaron’s bedroom floor while staring intently at the TV screen. I remember us being hunched over the computer when it sat on the desk in our dining room . We peered into that screen like it was going to talk back to us at any moment. We were entranced by a different world.
Over the years I’ve had the opportunity to play several video games with my son . Some I liked, some I tolerated, and some I won’t play again. Red Storm Rising however, is different. This game holds a very special place in my heart.
It wasn’t so much the game itself, though it was full of excitement, tension, and moments of sheer panic. It was mostly that we were spending time together and having fun at it. The game controls were complex enough that we had to divide the responsibilities between us. Without knowing it at the time we were having to depend on one another in order to stay safe in those hostile waters. Both of us were busy with our respective duties and yet had to work together to accomplish the mission.
Here in open waters it was more like two friends playing together than it was me being the dad and Aaron being the son. There was no strain in the relationship; just a simple ease we had together as we spent the time. We would laugh ourselves silly when we couldn’t keep the sub from being sunk . Oh, we would try frantically to keep her afloat, but to no avail. Then we would look at each other with those questioning eyes and eager faces that said,
“Let’s do it again!” And off we would go on a new mission.
Those years are gone now. The game for the most part is ancient history. What isn’t gone is the ease we still have when we are together. I’m grateful for that. All that time spent on his bedroom floor has helped pave the way for our relationship today.
Aaron is a grown man now with a wife and baby daughter. Yet in spite of all our current adult responsibilities and life challenges there’s still that little twinkle that comes into our eyes when we hear,
“Sonar contact. Orders Captain?”
“Son… set depth at 350 feet,”
What’s a favorite time you’ve spent with your children?
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Curls & Capes 