Oh hell

In some countries, by the calendar, I am considered an "Adult"
In a few more days or so I think I can safely say that I have lived more of my life than I have left.
Neither of which is a very comforting thought.
I am a Father.
I have two children that I refer too variously as 1 and 2, and "the NUMBERS' and I realize that I should be mindful of this and act appropriately.
Bull pucky says I.
If I feel the need to Juggle fruit in the grocery store, have a skipping or spitting contest or impromptu wrestle or sword-fight in the toy store.
I will.
Adult?
By age only.
Cultural definitions be dammed straight to Sheol.
That being said I had a very uncomfortable deep thought today.
Trust me, it was not on purpose.
#1, who is 13 and in middle school said Something to the Wife today.
"You and Dad may have crappy Jobs and think they are stressful, but you should really try middle school. Its MUCH worse"
My first reaction, on hearing this was to scoff, what does she know about bills and jobs and kids and car payments and children and spouses and all the other innumerable bullshit that is part and parcel of being a "Grown up".
Pshaw said I.
Then I had one of those highly damming spells of realization.
And memory.
I remembered middle school.
Really remembered it.
The fears and Pain and Heartache and Puberty and not being invited to the party and not quite knowing what to do and having a girlfriend and best-friends and fighting and My Grandpa dying and my Uncle Ron dying and Jamin dying and grades and math and wood-shop and ..........
well.
All of it.
I sat still and remembered all of it.
Then I had another realization.
This one was far more painful.
All of those stresses I deal with?
Now, as an Adult.
So do 1 and 2.
As children.
They are not deaf and Dumb, nor are they Blind or obtuse.
They know whats going on.
They hear the fights and see the anger. They feel the sadness and the pain of Adult life by watching the two they love the most go through it all.
They not only have all of their stresses, they have all of ours too.
My typical response?
"I dealt with it, so can they"
Why? I asked myself today. Is this some sort of bizarre hazing ritual that we all consciously and unconsciously practice?
I had to do it, so should they?
Really?
Truly?
Maybe some of it is unavoidable.
People are shit for the most part.
But as a parent of a wee human should not my Job be to see that they have it better and easier than I?
So that they can grow up to be a better and more complete person than I?

I hope so.

Making Loud noises

Ever blown anything up?
I am not talking about firecrackers.
For those of you that have known me for a long time, you were probably aware of this. For those of you who are just meeting me here ya go.
I like to blow stuff up.
Or as I shall refer to it henceforth "make really loud noises" to avoid being put on any sort of watch list.
Let me re-phrase.
To be put on ANY MORE watch lists.
I love Dry Ice.
It makes the best loud noises.
I even have a special recipe, after years (kid time, one summer) of testing I came up with three things.
1: Powder the Dry ice
2: Use cold water
3: Two liter bottles work, BUT, Listerine bottles are EXCEPTIONAL.
I won’t go into the details of the process of obtaining the un-obtanium on this list.
Watch list.
We used to make them at night after church activities in the summer. Praise God and blow stuff up.
Its an age old practice.
We launched a 50 gallon drum around 1/2 a minute high. It was dark and the drum was black and we couldn’t see it. It was in the air 1/2 a minute.
We had a pound of dry ice and a whole bunch of bottles. We had yet to figure out how perfectly they fit inside a mailbox, that was the next summer.
For this summer we were content to set them on the street or throw them in the air.
They are near as loud as Dynamite.


The group of us were making them and laughing and running and just being kids.
Every time a car would pull into the neighborhood we would scatter to shouts of "it’s a cop!" but it was all in fun. Never did any of us for a second think it actually was a cop.
Kids.
We had just enough dry ice for two more noises but only one bottle, so we doubled up everything and screwed the lid down extra tight. We were in the road, two houses away from mine. We set the bottle down and ran across the street, the bottle rolled to the curb and just sat there.
Waiting.
Waiting.
wai..... Car coming into the neighborhood, shouts of "its a cop" accompanied by the sound of Air Jordan knockoffs (except for Darren, his were real) running away from the scene of the soon to be crime.
Our giggles and laughter turned to silence. It was a cop.

Hiding became paramount.
Its amazing how many kids can fit into a window well, especially when someone whose name I will not mentions runs into his house and LOCKS THE FREAKING DOOR!
Shit, Danny.
Leaving the rest of us to fend for ourselves as the killer of fun pulled slowly up to the curb.
Parking.
Directly over the as of yet un-exploded noise maker.
we collectively whispered "oh shit"
The guardian of the peace flipped on his little spotlight and began to shine it hither and yon, looking for, no doubt, the source of the whispered scatological reference.
Remember in the Fire swamp?
You know, when Buttercup and Wesley are escaping from Prince Humperdinck?
The popping that comes right before the flames?
Seconds before a dry ice b..........
Sorry. Slip.
Seconds before the noise maker detonates it clicks.
It was clicking in the silence.
As the cop found us in his light, opened his door, started to put his foot on the ground....
Yep.
It was loud.
Really really loud.
Its amazing how fast kids can get out of a window well.
Even more amazing is how many police and fire trucks and unmarked black helicopters responded.
It took me three hours to get home.
Every single back yard in the neighborhood felt my feet that night.
It was.

Wonderful

Not us, some other morons