Chariton Valley News Press
Do guys ever really grow up? I ask myself that almost daily now that Joni has moved into
her own home and left me alone with her father and brother.
Larry and the kids have always enjoyed competitive
activities of any kind. It seems games with any kind of ball involved has
always attracted them like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. I have tons of pictures
from when the kids were little of impromptu basketball games, softball in the
front yard, and games without a name involving the extra large balls from the dollar
store and a plastic bat. I even have pictures of badminton in the pasture using
the horses as a net.
We always kept a bat and ball of some kind in the horse
trailer for campouts. It usually started out pretty simple and before you knew
it, all the adults had been suckered into a game of baseball. When the adults
hit the ball too hard and broke the bat and deflated the ball, the kids would
quickly scramble to make a ball out of the tin foil from the grill. It was easy
to find a bat with all the manure forks hanging out in trailers. Paper plates
always made the perfect base.
As the kids have grown, the games aren’t near as abundant in
our house. My décor is thankful for that. Larry and the kids used to play
“football” in my living room. Larry would sit in the recliner on one side of
the living room and one of the girls would become the marker on the other side
about five feet away. Jake started at the fireplace with helmet secured to his
head and football tucked under his arm. If he could make it to the couch on the
wall behind the chairs, it was a touchdown.
This was all fine and dandy until the pass play came into
effect. Larry would launch the ball at Jake in hopes that he would catch it. Since
the ball was bigger than Jake for the first few years, the pass usually went
right through his hands. Jake eventually grew big enough to catch it but in the
mean time, the décor in my living room suffered. I have a two-foot tall
defenseless cowboy these days because his arm holding his rifle is broken at
the elbow. Another cowboy riding his horse has been decapitated and his horse
has two broken ears and a docked tail.
The Indian figurines Larry collected over the years paid a
price as well. The hunting warrior’s bow was left hanging by the bow string,
the majestic deer became a unicorn, the proud and powerful chief is missing
more than one feather from his headdress, and the canoeing squaw has a hole in
her boat and a headless dog in tow.
Although it was usually the guys in the house who got the
blame for the broken décor, the girls had to take the blame for the most
expensive living room loss. The first summer the kids were allowed to stay home
on their own, we lost a tv. Larry and I didn’t realize the extent of the damage
until late into the evening. As a matter of fact, the tv looked fine until we
turned it on. That is when the hissing and popping followed by sparks and smoke
caught our attention.
Apparently, the girls were quite intrigued by one of the
carnival games at the Steak Festival earlier that summer. We never allowed them
to play many of those games so they decided to recreate the “shoot the parading
duck” game on their own one day.
The couch served as a large armrest and their super soaker
water guns had enough power to reach all the way across the living room and
meet the target. The target was, of course, their gullible little brother
running back and forth across the room – in front of the tv. I probably never
would have known about their wonderful game had they not gotten water into the
vents on the front of the tv and fried all the circuitry. The beauty of that
incident was I didn’t have to think of an appropriate punishment. They were
home all morning for a good part of the summer with no tv since we just decided
not to replace it for about a month.
The games eventually were banned from the living room and
moved to the front yard where they belonged. Our dog Gus loved the move since
he could join in. He loved to catch Jake not paying attention as he pursued
whichever girl had the football under her arm. Gus became a master at tripping
Jake then laying on top of him while the girls ran for safety. Yes, I have
pictures!
My outdoor décor did not fair any better than the indoor. I
now have a concrete St. Francis statue holding a beheaded child and several
one-winged angels. My hanging baskets seldom lasted an entire summer. I wonder
if any company has ever truly made a child/husband proof accessory for the home
or garden?
Jake had a rare evening at home the other night and the
thump of the oversized tennis ball he won at the after-prom party almost lulled
me to sleep. He and his dad were casually bouncing it back and forth across the
living room. I could have sworn I had two six year olds in the house as they
laughed at each other each time the ball hit the bulls eye they were aiming for
on the other’s body.
I didn’t even bother to yell at them when it took a couple
leaves off the plant or bounced through the window and hit the computer monitor.
I gave up on them growing up years ago. Besides, we had just gotten home from a
college visit in Iowa and a reality check for Mom. Nothing like driving three
and half hours and seeing the gleam in my son’s eyes as he checked out the
college campus and everything it had to offer to make me realize he really is
going to leave home next year.
Larry has long quit playing football against Jake – he says
Jake’s tackles hurt too much these days. They still cannot resist a game of
horse every now and then even though it always leads to good-hearted arguments.
I have no doubt I’ll hear that silly tennis ball bounce across the living room
several more times over the course of the next year.
As I face Jake blazing forward into preparations for his
senior year of high school, I’m a little thankful for all the broken décor. The
one-armed cowboy still stands proudly in my living room, situated strategically
behind a plant stand. The earless horse still carries his cowboy with the glue
mark around his neck. Although the home décor will never be the same, the
memories attached to those broken pieces of art will remain priceless.
Every cleaning day I’m reminded of the laughter that rolled
through my house as those games unfolded through the years. I’ll miss those
sounds as the quietness of the empty nest settles in but I have no doubt - no
doubt whatsoever there will be more games over the course of the next year and
more broken décor. It’s a small price to pay for the memories I’ll hold on to
and treasure for a lifetime.
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