Friday, February 27, 2009

Have a seat

At what age do children actually learn to sit in chairs and on couches as nature intended?
I ask this question because it is clear that my kids – 5 and 8 – have no concept of how to actually use what seem like fairly basic devices. These are kids who can use a Wii. They can TiVo their favorite Disney shows (which is necessary because if you are not careful, you may miss one of the Hannah Montana shows that is only shown 54,000 times a day). They can somehow figure out how to construct an elaborate enough combination of sticks and ropes so as to get one of them stuck in a tree. But sitting? Well, for my kids, that’s just practically like doing the math in “Good Will Hunting.”
For example, we have an island in our kitchen. You get used to swimming around after awhile.
Ha! Get it? Island ... Oh, never mind.
Anyway, there are two high-back bar chairs that sit at the island. My wife and I often enjoy our dinner here, after children have gone to bed. “Why,” you are no doubt asking, “don’t you eat at 5:30 p.m. with your family, after walking in, putting your coat and hat on the hall tree and calling. ‘Honey, I’m home!’” And the answer is no, because I do not live in a 1950s television show.
My kids usually eat before I get home, and my wife and I enjoy a nice – albeit late – dinner together, where we can sit and chat and compare notes over who had the longer day.
When my wife and I eat, we have the whole chair thing down pat – we sit. And that is all. My kids, however, see these chairs as the most awesome, spinning, merry-go-rounds right there in the kitchen. I am fairly sure that, when my kids reflect on their childhood, one recurring memory will be of their father bellowing, “FOUR ON THE FLOOR!!!”
Of course, when they are in the chairs, even balanced on one leg, that is at least a step in the right direction. I am still working to keep them from sitting on the counter. We have a small TV in the kitchen because we cannot risk going from the den to the playroom and missing some Hannah Montana. On occasion, I will find the kids sitting on the counter right by the TV, often having helped themselves to a snack. So I get to offer up such gems as:
— “I make your lunch there. You seriously want to sit there?”
— “Five seconds. See if you can go just that long without staring at a TV.”
— “Where did you find a bag of potato chips that big? You’re sitting in it for crying out loud!”
But the worst infractions occur on the couch. We have two big comfy couches in the den. These couches are perfect for sitting on and even occasionally kicking off your shoes and relaxing for a baseball nap. (A baseball nap, for what it’s worth, is a nap that take about two to three innings. They are best done on a summer Saturday afternoon, between the third and fifth innings. Baseball is a great sport because you can nap during it and not really miss anything. That said, you do not have to actually have a baseball game on to take this kind of nap. It’s just that Hockey Nap sounds odd.)
But my kids do not treat the couches as couches. For starters, it’s like a pillow fire sale – every pillow must go! Some are stacked as new, makeshift chairs. Some are used as fort walls. Some are merely flung, discus style, in an attempt to knock over a big sister.
Second, there is not actual sitting on the couch part. The arm? Sure. The back? You bet. Halfway on, halfway on the floor? Why not? Underneath? As far as they can fit. When I tell them not to sit on the couch in that manner, they act as though I have just asked them to lift a Subaru and commence the most labored grunting and groaning as they move toward the normal, human sitting mode.
Like most everything else with kids, I guess this will just take time. At some point in time, they will learn how to sit in a chair. Or on a couch. Or not on a counter. Until then, I think I’ll make the lunches somewhere else.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Superman falls

Last week, I informed you I am invincible. This week, I would like to repeat that I am still invincible, much in the way Superman is invincible, even when he lost all his powers for a brief spell.
If you recall, I told you of how my family had succumbed to weakness and gotten sick for a two-week stretch. It started with my wife, who passed it on to our son, who shared it with his sister. I, of course, am too awesome to get sick. At least with their pitiful strain of sickness.
Clearly, the sickness that overtook me the very same day that column was published was from a different strain – one most likely created in a lab for use as chemical warfare but deemed far too cruel for use on actual humans. That is the only explanation as to how I got sick. Or, as I was quick to remind my wife, sicker than anyone on the planet had ever been.
It started with a bit of a tickle in the throat. Just something in the air, I assumed. Nothing that a constant, vocal, annoying clearing of my throat wouldn’t cure. Because this was an aggressive and angry version of sickness, the tickle quickly moved to a full-blown hacking, disgusting cough, one of those uncontrollable, full-body seizing coughs that causes you to lunge forward and your eyes to water and creates a general full-body quake that makes you look like you’re doing a Joe Cocker impersonation, to the point where your wife then says, “Seriously? The interpretive dance part? A little much.”
While it would have probably been in the best interest to have myself immediately admitted into the finest medical facility in the world so that I could offer medical specialists an opportunity to study the world’s most ferocious sickness, my wife suggested I instead take some NyQuil and go to bed. I reminded her that my sickness was nothing like the ones she and the kids had experienced.
I did not sleep well that night, mainly because I had convinced myself that my sickness would turn to a flesh-eating virus any time now. By morning, I decided I would get up long enough to take our son to school, and then I would come home and wail and moan loudly until I realized no one was there to hear it.
My wife called and asked me how I was feeling.
“Auuuggghhh,” was my response.
She asked me if I was running a fever, as she and the kids had all topped 102 during their pedestrian sick time. I told her that I did have a fever and that 98.8 was a far worse fever because it is so close to NOT having a fever that it lulls you into thinking you’re not sick. At that point, something must have happened with the phone line, as it went dead suddenly. Perhaps my sickness ate through it.
That night, as I was packing a bag for my inevitable medical experiment ship-off, my wife again suggested I take some NyQuil. And the sooner the better. She told me she was tired of hearing about it, which, as you know, means that it was taxing on her to constantly hear the horrors of my sickness, much like hearing the anguished cries of a loved one having their flesh attacked by piranhas. (I have not actually heard someone be attacked by piranhas, but I would imagine the cries are quite anguished.)
By the next day, I was feeling much better, which shows that my sickness was clearly not related to theirs, as the three of them stretched it out for two weeks. Fortunately, like Superman, I was able to overcome and defeat it and was soon back in top form. I know my wife was glad to see that I was better, as it had to be painful witnessing the horror that I had endured and to know that I had taken on the insidious sickness to spare my family. The things I do for these people.
I know some of you are relishing in what you perceive as me having jinxed myself. To which I say, “Pshaw.” Clearly, I did not have the same illness. Mine, like kryptonite, was probably not of this world. But, like, Superman, I fought valiantly and am once again invincible. Except for this little tickle that’s back in my throat ...

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Strong like bull

One thing that is clearly evident after the last two weeks: I am invincible.
I base this on the fact that the rest of my family contracted some vicious alien illness that rendered my house a sick bay.
It started with my wife. She went to bed on a Saturday night, saying she wasn’t feeling that great. Might have a bit of a cold, she thought. She decided to invite our good friend NyQuil over and see how it goes. When she finally got out of bed about three days later, she still felt lousy. It was tough on me, too. I had to feed the kids, get them dressed, help them with homework and the like. You know, the things she does every day. Hardly fair to me.
But she was kind enough to get up long enough to get our son Parker sick. He took the funk baton from her and ran with it. Most kids, when they get sick, like to curl up on the couch, maybe take in a movie, snuggle up with Mommy or Daddy. Not Parker. The more the fever ticked up, the more wired he got.
100 – Sprinting through the den, singing Diego theme song.
101 – Sprinting up and down the stairs, screaming Diego theme song.
102 – Swinging from ceiling fan, emitting a hum that, I think, may have been a rapidly condensed Diego theme song.
Bedtime was a treat, too. Normally, Parker goes to bed quite well. Bath, teeth brushed, swig of NyQuil Jr. (OK, there is no such thing as NyQuil Jr. I checked.) But when he was fired up with fever, there would be no bedtime. I would sit with him, and he would get stiff as a board and say, “Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.” So Mommy would come in. “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.” We both would come in. “Diego. Diego. Diego. Diego.”
After a few days, his fever was down, and he was on the mend, meaning that his sister had her turn. She had been somewhat jealous of all of the attention her brother got. About two days into her illness, she confessed that she had kinda wanted to be sick, but now that she had headed down that path, she would like to pass on it. No can do, you who tested positive for flu. She was miserable, with a fever comparable to Parker’s. Her difference is that she opted for lying in bed, watching the Disney channel, on occasionally moaning loud enough so that we could hear her. There were three mains moans: “Water”; “Take my temperature”; “Get Parker out of here.”
But through it all, one thing remained constant: My refusal to get sick. Some would chalk it up to having gotten a flu shot. Other might call it dumb luck. Clearly, that is insane, as the only sensible answer is that I have an unparalleled strength, and I refused to allow sickness to win.
I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking it’s only a matter of time until I get sick, especially having said that. To which I say: Pshaw. I do not believe in jinxes. But I believe in submersing myself in a tub of Purel for hours on end.
So I will consider myself victorious in the battle that claimed three in my household. I am the last man standing. For I am strong. Although I do feel a tickle in my throat...

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Down memory lane

My kids have taken a curious interest in what things were like when I was a kid. This started a while back when I pointed out the house I lived in until I was 4, which was on Silver Bluff Road. They were fascinated to learn that the BI-LO shopping center was a neighborhood and that a parachutist landed there once. I am not sure why a parachutist chose a neighborhood to land in, but I am fairly certain it was a mistake. Perhaps he was aiming for the large field, across the street, which I refer to as the Kroger shopping center, only to have to say, “No, wait, the old ... oldish ... Krog ... Old Navy shopping center.”
We moved from that house when I was 4, but I still have some memories, in particular of my sisters teaching me how to climb a large magnolia in our neighbors’ yard. They did not, however, teach me the art of climbing DOWN a magnolia tree. I also have another oh-so-fond memory of the time my sisters told me we were going to play Peter Pan. There was a rope with a clip on the end that was hanging from a tree branch. They clipped the end of it to my back belt loop, leaving me hanging in the flying position. They told me to close me eyes, and they would spin me. When I opened my eyes, I would fly!
OK, anyone wanna guess what happened when I opened my eyes? I am still not 100 percent sure how I got down, but I do think my sisters stayed in hiding for a while.
So after sharing these stories, the kids have been asking about various buildings. Among the places we have talked about:
1. The current Aiken County Complex — I was paying a tax bill there, and I explained to Parker that I was born there. He looked up and down the halls. It did not appear to be the best place to give birth. I told him it probably looked a little different then.
2. Mitchell Shopping Center — We were in the Post Office inside Unique Expressions, which used to be, I told him, Woodruff’s Drug, and how I could ride by bike from Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house. That shopping center also used to house an Edwards department store, where I remember shopping one year and finding a gigantic stack of Tupperware containers that I absolutely had to get for my mom’s birthday. I was so excited, I gave it to her about two weeks before her birthday. To my mother, of course, it was the most perfect and fantastic setup of containers EVER. There was also a candy store there, where we used to get either candied apples or popcorn balls, depending on whether you ask me or my sister. Also, where the billiards place is now, was a Brindle’s and a Service Merchandise at various times, one of which is where my Millennium Falcon was purchased.
3. Zaxby’s — While Zaxby’s is a fine place for chicken fingers, my children are in awe of the stories of the former occupant, the greatest pizza establishment ever, Mr. Gatti’s. I have no idea how good the pizza actually was. I just know that it was buffet style and had unlimited soft drinks and video game machines. Combine that with being located across the street from the soccer field, and it was the place to go after a game. For what it’s worth, across the street from Mr. Gatti’s, in what is now Hardee’s, was a Burger King. In high school, my friend Chris and I would go there and both load up – he would get two Whoppers and I would eat two chicken sandwiches. The thought of eating two chicken sandwiches – in particular as a between-meal snack – makes my stomach hurt.
4. Moe’s — From Krystal to Gary’s Hamburgers to Kentucky Fried Chicken, that corner has seen a lot of action. (I am thinking a Dairy Queen was there for a while, too.) The main thing I remember – it used to take roughly nine hours to get a bucket of chicken. I guess they had not fully bought into the fast-food model back then.
5. Heritage Square — What many people call the Home Depot shopping center was home to a Food Lion, which was actually a Food Town first. I remember the TV commercials when they changed the name, with a cartoon lion singing “It’s not Food Town, it’s Food Lion!!!” Guess who hated that jingle? My sisters. And wanna guess who sang it constantly? The shopping center was also home to Wal-Mart, and beside it was a Revco drug store, which was my personal favorite place to get baseball cards, with the obvious exception of ...
6. The building next to Porky Bradberry’s Jewelry — That was home to Donnie’s, a baseball card store. Donnie “hired” me when I was 13, but because you couldn’t technically work when you were that age, he let me hang out in his store and organize cards and such. He paid me each week with store credit. It was the greatest job a kid could ever have. Sometimes, I would spend my credit on a single card, while other times I would go buy a whole box of cards, some of which I still have, unopened. I am guessing 25-year-old gum is delicious.
There are plenty of other places that have changed, some of which I may touch on in a future column. And I am sure my memory could be slightly off on some of these, as many of these recollections were formed on the back of my bike in the 1970s and 1980s. It is fun to stroll your hometown, though, and share your childhood memories as your kids form their own. Maybe some of their memories will be similar to mine. Maybe one day their aunts can teach them how to fly.