The laws of physics can be cruel.
I can't dunk a basketball. I can't fly, I can't camouflage myself to blend in with my environment, I can't burn holes through concrete with my laser eyesight. I don't have a single, solitary superpower that I'm aware of (unless you count the ability to smile and nod as if I understand a topic while in a conversation even though my mind is doing cartwheels in the land of make-believe).
I have, however, developed a decent understanding of the basic laws of physics over the almost forty years I've roamed this earth. On occasion I use that knowledge to my advantage, and harness its power for the forces of good.
Case in point: Abby and I were in the Dairy Queen drive thru after I'd picked her up from daycare a couple of weeks ago. There are a few toys I have in my car to keep the kids entertained when they ride with me. One is a stuffed Godzilla and the other is a tiny football that fits in the palm of your hand. Abby chose the football as the source of entertainment for the ride home, and that did not bode well for me. Godzilla, destructive as he is, can pass for what Logan would call a "snuggly toy." It's just something soft to hold against you. Abby holds him and plays with him within the confines of her car seat.
The football is a different story. There is enough college football playing at our house (whenever it's on she points at the screen and yells "Foopah!") for our daughter to understand at least the most basic actions required by the sport.
She knows to throw the ball.
This inevitably leads to a high pitched shriek the minute it leaves her hand. Being strapped into a car seat like a Talladega racecar driver doesn't allow for much of a reach. She throws it, immediately realizes she wants it back but can't reach it, and at least eighty percent of the time I can't get to it myself to hand it back to her. I get to drive the rest of the way home to the song of a mad, whiny toddler.
That night I had made it all the way from town to the Dairy Queen near home without issue. After I'd placed the order with the young lady, I crept forward toward the window to get our food.
Abby let out a whine.
"What's wrong?" I asked in my playful, counter-whine voice.
"Foopah!" Abby responded.
I turn and see the little ball nestled above the middle seat beneath the rear window. It had landed in the perfect location to torment both myself and my daughter. It was within eyesight of her, but just out of reach. With my seatbelt on I couldn't reach it either, and as soon as I tried the car in front of me moved forward and I had to follow the train of vehicles.
"I wan' my foopah!" Abby called.
"I can't reach it, honey. You're gonna have to wait a minute."
Good thing my daughter is extremely patient, right?
Wrong.
"I WAN' MY FOOPAH!"
I try to reach for it again. No dice. By that time I had gotten to the window and had handed the girl my debit card. An unreasonable yet determined wave of anxiety washed over me. I didn't have time to unbuckle. The minute I did and worked around to a kneeling position in the driver's seat (assuming I could even achieve this without causing a scene with my ass bumping into the horn on the steering wheel or something) she'd be back to hand me my card and my food. She'd have to watch me awkwardly shift and struggle while the car shook with my efforts and my daughter screamed for her foopah in the background. I wasn't having it.
"I can't reach it yet Abby." Used her actual name that time. Hopefully that would let her know I meant business.
"I.. WAN'... MY FOOPAH..." The tears began.
Anxiety and frustration buzzed like the whine of a half dozen mosquitos hovering just outside my ear.
The worker handed me the food and the debit card. I took a quick glance at the rearview mirror and noted there was only one other car behind me, and they were still placing their order. My focus changed to the little red ball taunting me at the edge of the seat. Abby's hand reached out for it periodically.
And that's when I knew what I had to do.
It's funny how stress forces answers into your brain. Maybe they aren't the smartest answers, but when you're back's against the wall your brain starts pulling from any available experience or bit of half-baked intelligence you might possess. You start calculating, running risk analyses, taking complete stock of your surroundings and making decisions in rapid fire succession.
I was not going to listen to my daughter whining for the rest of the ride home.
My idea was a simple one. I crept the car forward until I was out of the way of the drive thru window. I looked left, I looked right. Satisfied, I nodded to myself.
I stepped on the gas, the force of acceleration pushing me back against my seat for a second or two, and then I immediately hit the brakes.
The change in force pushed me forward. Abby, strapped firmly into her car seat, probably felt nothing. The football shot forward and hit the back of the console near my elbow with a satisfying thud. I reached back, grabbed the ball that was now easily within reach, and handed it to my fussing daughter.
I reveled in my victory for a moment, thinking of how ingenious the solution had been. I held a half smile on my face for roughly the next minute and a half...
Until she threw the damn ball again.
Moral of the Story: I don't know. Just don't give your kid something that they feel inspired to throw when on trips in the car. You won't always be able to harness the power of physics to help.
No comments:
Post a Comment