The Plan – February 12, 2022

graphix: spwilcen

I was doing some navel recon waiting for the Boss to complete one of her now-and-again visits to the library in search of new reading material.  Not much for me in the library lately.  No new Parker, Kaminsky, McBain, or Chandler works. Until they get busy again, that leaves me to write my own material. That’s not going well at present either.

When I accompany the Boss on her library visits, unless it’s raining or snowing or one-hundred plus degrees outside, you’ll find me dangling my legs off the dropped tailgate of my pickup.  Enjoying the weather, fresh air, and contemplating my navel.  A curious little scene unfolded during this most recent library visit.

It was cool, not much breeze.  September was doing it’s best to foreshadow October.  Unsuccessfully.  Parked beside the front door to the impressive new library, I had a good view of the kiddie park across the parking lot.  You know, the kind, outfitted with two-by-four, six, eight, and twelve wooden recreation monstrosities designed by some middle-aged twit who obviously was never a kid.  Not once in all my parking lot visits have a seen the first kid squeal with glee on any of the horrendous swings, teeter-totters, jungle-gyms, spin-until-you’re-dizzy wheels, or slides.  To set your mind at ease, I can report the “slide” does have a polished metal insert for the “slide” part, so there is little danger kids will get splinters in their slider-seats. 

That’s irrelevant as not once has anyone, kid or let-me-demonstrate parent, used any part of the blamed thing. This day, pointedly not using the wooden monstrosity, two kids were occupied with, I assumed, daddy, on the walkways in the little “park.” Little asphalt trails that go nowhere, do not lead to a pen of giraffes or a petting zoo staffed by goats, sheep, and llamas.

It was an odd little scenario.  Daddy admonished the kids, a young lass I would guess four or five years old and a young lad, maybe three years old, to “stay” and “wait.”  Daddy then walked thirty or so yards, looking for a giraffe pen, I thought at first.  Daddy turned to the children, then began, “One. Two. Three. Go!”

Yupper. The kids ran as much lickety-split as kids that age can, struggling more to not fall down than to turn-in good times or “win.”  Completing the race still standing was satisfaction enough.  Daddy met them on arrival with “Great!  Way to go!  Boy that was fast!”  I wasn’t impressed, but I am not their daddy and cannot remember far enough back to recall any such demonstration by my own kids.

Daddy repeated his “Stay right here.  Wait!” speech, turned, and walked back to the original starting-point.  “One. Two. Three. Go!”  The kids again raced to daddy, who again regaled them with praise.  This little pattern repeated four, maybe five times.  Each time, the children struggled more to stay upright than to be first to where daddy stood.  Clearly, the kids were pooped.

Finally, daddy and his charges walked from the kiddie park to their car, parked next to mine at the front entrance to the library.  Daddy strapped the kids into their car seats.  He passed in front of me making his way to the driver’s side door.  Well, someone had to drive.  The kids were no longer up to the task.

As daddy passed by, I offered, “Cute kids.”

“Oh.  Thanks.  Couple of live wires.  Where they get their energy, I don’t know.”

“You wore them out with all that running.”

“Missus says the exercise and fresh air will make them sleep.”

“I’ll bet.  I got tired just watching.”

“Well, that’s the plan anyway.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.  The missus and I can have some quiet time.  Alone.”

“Ah. Going for number three.”

That must have been part of the plan, too.  Daddy just grinned at me as he backed-out of his parking spot.