State Fair . . . crowds . . . Cotton Candy . . . Coffee . . . “I want, I want, I want” . . . ATM . . . Cheeseburger, no bun . . . Moms, Dads, Kids, babies . . . excitement . . . heights . . . mountains . . . soda . . . rope . . . time . . . frazzled . . . the screaming, oh Jesus, the screaming . . . laughing . . . standing . . . spinning . . . tickets, for games and rides . . . tension . . . I killed a bee . . . people were grateful.
I’m a parent. I’m stepped on, pounced on, climbed on and over and hit with hard flying objects. Last night was no exception. My two year old son picked up a blue block, you remember the type, simple and functional for tots, wound up and hurled it into my face.
The blue block whacked my forehead and bounced off with a smart “thwack” sound. I howled in pain as my son looked on in drooling interest. There he sat, all innocence and cuteness. Despite how much my primal side wanted to retaliate, my brain’s executive processes stayed intact. How many times had I done that to my Dad when I was two?
Alas, patience and tolerance in the face of kid-induced pain takes courage and strength. I have both in ample supply.