Back in the day when my
body was busy, I had people from all over the U.S. of A. who wanted to send me their media kits and/or advertising packets in order to entice me to advertise with them. Since these were the dark darks before email, these salespeople wanted to snail mail their packets to me. This meant I had to give them my mailing address, which was problematic, because my office was on Arapaho Road.
I'm guessing Arapaho Road was named after the indian tribe who I guess has shitty PR because the majority of these people would always say, "Huh?" when I gave them the address. This meant, that I had to backtrack and give them the address a second time, and then had to spell A R A P A H O for them. This annoyed me. Bad.
After a while, as a defense, and to amuse myself, I got in the habit of reciting a (bad) joke punch line after I spelled A R A P A H O.
Apropos of nothing I said,
"I'm not an ArapaHO, I'm a Detroit HO." I had that job for 5 years. Amazing, considering that level of professionalism.
I tell you that for this ---- I was driving down Arapaho Road on my way to E's soccer practice thinking about
"I'm not an ArapaHO, I'm a Detroit HO." when my cell phone rang to life, scaring the ever living shit out of me. My Lovely Bride was on the line and she simply said, "Wy has something he wants to tell you."
Great, I thought to myself,
what has the Boy done now."Daddy!" he shouted.
"Yes." I said.
"Can I tell you something."
"Please."
"I...I...I did it!" he exclaimed. "I did the monkey bars. By myself! All the way down and back..."
"That's great Wy Wy..." I said.
"...all by myself!!! Up high. I did it!" he continued.
"Oh Wy Wy, Daddy is so proud of you. I knew you would get it."
"Thanks." he said.
Wy had been trying to master the monkey bars, if that's even what you call them, for weeks. I'm referring to the bars that look like a horizontal ladder, suspended in the air, that kids swing across, reaching one hand to the next. You see these things in obstacle courses too. They are in damn near every park you see these days, normally attached to the jungle gym thingy, and Wy has been trying to navigate them for weeks.
In fact, it had just been a week or so before, after his soccer practice, when we had watched an older kid do the bars. This kid did it over and over, down one way and back the other. It was impressive. Wy watched him, mesmerized.
"Wy," I said. "Do you see how he swings his body. The motion? That's the secret to doing it. Not being strong necessarily, its the rhythm, or that motion. You have to not be afraid to let go, and swing, grabbing each bar, and pull yourself across. If you stop, you won't make it. You'll get stuck and then your weight will over power your arm strength and you'll drop."
When that kid finished Wy tried, over and over to master the bars. He could barely even reach them to begin with, but still he tried, falling each and every time. At one point, he got so frustrated, he screamed in rage, freaking out all the happy kids and parents.
On the way home I said, "Wy, you got to keep trying, its not easy to do the bars. Daddy can't do them, did you know that?"
"Really?!?!" he asked.
"Really. I never could get the rhythm down I guess, and after awhile, when I got older, I gained weight, which makes it harder to do."
"Oh."
"You know Wy Wy," I said, "The rhythm part isn't all the way true. I think Daddy's problem was the letting go part. I don't think you'll have the same problem."
As I turned right, off of Arapaho Road, onto Floyd Road, on my way to the school yard where E practices I said, "Wy Wy, Daddy's close. I'll be there in a minute and you can show me how you can do the monkey bars."
"Ok," he said. "Have a nice day."
Laughing I said, "I love you Wy."
"I love you too." He said and then shouted "BYE!!!"
Until I BLOG again...
just let it go .
