Horseshoes and Handgrenades

"Dad!" The Elder Boy called out from the stall next to mine. "I think I got a flea."

We were both taking a crap in the public restroom and shower near our camp at Cedar Lake in the Ouachita National Forest.

"A flea?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Wait. I got two?!?"

A flea? Dirt would be more like it. The Boy hadn't bathed, or shit for that matter the entire trip, and God only knew what he had found when he pulled down his jeans.

"Ok. I'm going to the bathroom too. Let me finish and I'll come and look." I said.

A few moments later, as I was reaching for the toilet paper the Boy said, "Dad, Its by my penis."

Which is when I realized he didn't mean flea. He meant tick, or ticks, which made my crazy ass immediately think Rocky Mountain Tick Fever and or Lime Disease. With more anxiety in my voice than I meant I said, "Do you mean you have two ticks by your penis?"

"YEAH!" he said nervously, undoubtedly noting the tension in my voice. "Ticks. Two of them."

And that Dear Reader is when the shit hit the fan and the Boy panicked and let loose with this strange cross between a cry and wail that reverberated throughout the bathroom and shower building.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude," I said, grabbing handfuls of toilet paper to wipe my ass. "Slow down. Don't panic. I'll be right there to help you."

"I can't get them off. I can't get them off. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

A few seconds later I was out of my stall and at his stall's door, which was locked, so I shouted, "Unlock the door!"

"I'm still p...p...p...po...poo...poo...pooping." he said and then let go with that crazy ass wail sort of moan which again echoed throughout the shitter making it sound more like a Halloween spook house than the national park's public bathroom and shower building.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude, I can't help you if I can't get in and I'm not climbing under the freaking stall on this dirty floor. Get up off the pot and unlock the door."

Nothing.

"Ethan!" I commanded. "Get up off the toilet and open this door. NOW!!!"

Click was my reply.

I opened the door slowly and took a step into his stall where he was back on the toilet and said, "Show me where the ticks are at."

"Here," he said looking down and sort of pointing at his penis area. All I could see was his long hair which was hanging down over his crotch.

"I can't see when you look down. Your hair is too long. Look up and let me see."

"Oh," he said looking up at me briefly and then looking back down again blocking my view.

"Dude," I said. "I can't see when you look down!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Damn," I said as I got down on my knees and knelt in front of his throne of waste.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Shit!" I said as I stuck my head into his crotch to get a better view of the ticks, which was ironic considering the only thing I got a better view of was three days worth of crap in that dirty campground toilet.

"Dude," I said. "I don't have my glasses on and your hair is too long and I can't see because its blocking my light. You have to look at the door, while I look down."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Calm down." I commanded as I stuck my face back into the Boy's junk, while grabbing his chin with my left hand and holding it in place so he couldn't look down and obstruct my view.

"I see them," I said.

And I did. Two little fuckers. Right there on his crotch. One was a half inch above his penis. The other one was parallel to his penis, to the right of his right nut. Both were burrowed into his flesh.

"Fuck me." I said trying to figure out what to do next.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" He wailed as he tried to get up off the toilet, and bolt, which resulted in him sticking his junk in my face since I was kneeling in front of him.

"Sit down!" I commanded as I pushed him back down on the seat while I contemplated what I should do next.

After a few moments I said, "Ok. I'm going to get them off of you. I need you to sit still and not freak out. Don't panic."

"Will it hurt?!?!?!" he whined.

"Probably." I said.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"They are embedded in your skin. They are sucking your blood." I explained.

That Dear Reader, was my Father of the Year moment for May. The absolute worst thing I could have said at the time.

"My blood!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude! Settle down. It's ok. They are ticks. That's what ticks do."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" He wailed as he tried to again, get up and bolt from the stall.

"Sit down! While I try and pinch this one..."

"OW!" he screamed as I tried to pinch the little bastard nearest his penis off.

"Damn." I said to myself. "They are so small. I can't even get my fingers on them."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Calm down!" I said. "Hold your head up and quit looking at them, your hair is so long it is hanging down and I can't see what I'm doing!"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude, stop making all that noise. You'll be fine. Daddy is here. If you keep wailing like that someone is going to think God knows what."

"Tell me what your favorite thing about camping is so far." I said trying to divert his attention from my fingers in his crotch.

"I don't know...OUCH!" He screamed as I again tried and failed, to pinch a tick off of him.

After a few more attempts I realized I wasn't going to get them off with my fingers. They were too small and embedded into his skin. And since the Boy was freaking out, I knew I would never be able to get him out of the shitter, let alone to wipe his ass, and back to our campsite without removing them first, which is why I asked, "Where is your pocketknife?"

"Pocketknife?" He asked with pure fear in his eyes. "Why?"

"Yes, your pocketknife. I'm going to cut them off."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Sit down!" I said as I pushed him back onto the pot and riffled through his pockets to find his pocketknife. As I pulled it out and opened the knife blade on his swiss army knife I said, "Ok, I'm going to try and..."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Calm down! And sit down!!!" I ordered.

"You'll cut off my penis!!! You'll cut off my penis!!!"

"Dude," I said laughing at the utter absurdness of the situation. "I won't cut off you penis. I'm going to try and scratch them off so I can get my fingers on them."

"You'll cut off my penis!!! You'll cut off my penis!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Dude!!! Slow down!!!" I shouted as I simultaneously stopped him from trying to bolt out of the shitter and pushed him back down onto the toilet. "This is the only way I'm going to be able to get them off of you. Calm down!"

"Don't cut off my penis!!!! Don't cut off my penis!!!!"

"Settle down. I'm not going to cut your penis. I'm going to pinch your skin together and try and scrape it off enough to get the knife under the head..."

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Don't cut off my penis!!! Don't cut off my penis!!!"

This went on for ten grueling minutes. Me trying to cut the ticks without cutting him while he tried to bolt out of the stall and escape. The entire time I expected the old man who managed the campgrounds to come into the bathroom and club me from behind thinking I was some sicko predator doing heinous things in the park's bathroom and shower. I mean, seriously, you have me in a stall, on my knees, knife in my hand, with my face in a screaming seven year olds crotch.

If I saw that, I'd club me.

After I got the first one off I said, "Ok, let me kill this little bastard and I'll..."

"Are you done?"

"Almost." I said.

"Almost?!?!?! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

The second tick, which was tiny, was harder than the first. Fast forward another ten minutes and I finally got it off and killed it. By then we were both spent.

"Are you done." He asked hopefully.

"Almost," I answered. "We need to go back to camp and clean up where I cut them off of you. I'll put some alcohol on them."

"Will that hurt?" He asked.

I smiled at the Boy, and slowly nodded my head in a way that meant, yes, it would hurt while thinking, but not as bad as if I had cut your penis.

Until I BLOG again...I'm not fucking around.

Silly rule golden words make practice

"What's graduate?"



That was the question the Younger Boy asked me and My Lovely Bride numerous times as we went into his final week at Arapaho United Methodist Dayschool. The Boy, like his older brother, has been attending the school since they were toddlers in the Mother's Day Out program.

Those early days were hard for Wy. He hated to go into the Fireplace Room where they kept all these Mother's Day Out kids. He would cry, cry, and cry, for My Lovely Bride as she left him. That seems like yesterday. But blink my eyes and I have a self confident five year old standing in front of me saying, "What's graduate Dad?"

I explained the concept of graduate to the Boy. My Lovely Bride did too. Still, he would ask, again and again, "What's graduate?"

The night of Wy's graduation the Boy(s) had a sleep over at some friends house. This allowed me and My Lovely Bride a rare 'date night' which included dinner and a movie (which we watched on DVD.) We had just arrived back to the Casa though, and were getting ready to watch Slumdog Millionaire when her cell phone range.

"Do you want me to answer that?" I shouted since she was in the back of our house.

"Yeah, see if it's (insert the name of the Mom where the Boy(s) were sleeping over that night.)" She answered.

"It's not. It's..." and I read off the number.

"I don't know who that is?" She replied.

I stared at the number for a moment, wondering I should answer it, or just let it go to voice mail. It was date night after all, and I didn't want the interruption.

On what was probably going to be the last ring before it went to voice mail, I flipped open the phone and said, "Hello."

"Is Carter Tinsley there."

"Yes. Who's calling please." I asked.

"It's (insert Wy's teacher who had retired that very day after working at the dayschool since 1980.)"

"Ok, Ms. (insert Wy's teacher's name.) Let me get her."

I walked the phone back to where My Lovely Bride was in our bedroom and said, "It's Ms. (insert Wy's teacher's name?)"

My Lovely Bride took the phone and said hello, and then was silent for the most part, saying 'thank you,' every so often. Intrigued by why his teacher would call on the Friday night after school had let out, I tried to determine the nature of the conversation by listening what My Lovely Bride said on our end of the conversation. About all I could get though, was that Wy's teacher was fond of the Boy and saying nice things about him.

After a few minutes My Lovely Bride congratulated Wy's teacher on her retirement and said good-bye.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Ms. (insert Wy's teacher's name) wanted to let us know about Wyatt." She said.

"She didn't get a chance to talk to us about it after graduation."



"What?" I asked thinking that maybe it was something bad about the Boy. Perhaps she didn't feel he was ready for kindergarten? Or he had done something that was deplorable enough that his just retired teacher would call our house the night of her last day of teaching since 1980! If it was me, I'd be at Happy Hour. Or a nice dinner.

"Wy did..." My Lovely Bride said, and she commenced to tell me how The Younger Boy had assisted a little girl in his class who is physically challenged. This little girl has a hard time negotiating certain things, spatially, and I guess becomes frightened when she has to do certain things (like walking into the sanctuary for graduation in front of a decent size crowd.) Wy Wy, without being asked, took this little girl's hand and led her gently into their pre-graduation position. Wy's teacher was so touched by Wy's behavior, that she had to call and tell us about it.

I didn't see Wy Wy until the next night. I had to work on Saturday and then when I came home they were out at the park. When they got home the Elder Boy ran in the house first, and said Hello to me. Wy walked in next, slow, looking tired and said, "Hi Dad."

"Hi Wy." I said and picked him up.

"What?" He asked.

"Did Mom tell you Ms. (insert Wy's teacher's name) called last night?"

"No?" He answered giving me a sheepish smile.

"She did," I said. "She wanted to tell us what you did for (insert the little girl's name) at graduation."

"Oh." He said giving me a bashful smile and looking down at the ground as I held him.

"That makes Mommy and Daddy very proud of you, son." I said.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah." I said. "Very proud."

"Dad," he asked.

"Yes?" I replied.

"What's graduate."



Until I BLOG again...practice makes perfect, perfect is a fault, and fault lines change.

Lost between yesterday and tomorrow

"Which one would you get?" The Elder Boy asked for the fifth time as I prowled up and down the Hobby Lobby aisle wondering if any of the people in the store were infected with Pig Fever.

"I pick fast." Wy said to no one in particular.

I smiled at Wy Wy as I walked past him sitting on the stocker's rack ladder thing parked in the aisle and said, "Yes, Wy Wy, you do," and looking at the Elder Boy I said, "I can't answer that for you, son, it is up to you."

Flummoxed he said mainly to himself, "I don't know which one to pick!"

"I pick fast." Wy said again.

The dilemma was which pack of army men to purchase with the money Old Granny had sent the Boy (along with the money he had squirreled away for the past few months.) The Younger Boy, as he said, did pick fast. It had taken him three minutes to decide what to spend his five dollars on (a five dollar toy dog figurine to go with his growing collection.)

"Which one would you pick?" The Elder Boy asked again.

"Son, I can't make that decision for you." I answered.

"How much do I have?"

"You have eight dollars," I explained. "Old Granny sent you five, and then you have another three in change that you've saved."

"How many is this?" he asked holding up a bag of Korean War army men which included various Korean War accouterments.

"Five dollars and ninety-nine cents," I said. "Plus tax."

"Is that enough?" he asked.

"You have eight. Is eight more than five?"

"Yes."

"Then you have enough." I said.

"What's tax?" he asked.

"Forget tax. Just pick what you want. We can't stay here all night."

"How much do I have?" Wy asked.

"You have five dollars Wy Wy. You haven't saved any money, because you blew it all at Dollar Tree the last time Old Granny sent you some."

"Man!" Wy grumbled.

"Dude," I explained. "You're good. The dog you want is five dollars. You have enough."

"I pick fast." Wy said.

"Yes." I said.

"Would you get this one?" E asked holding the bag full of Korean War army men which included various Korean War accouterments.

"Son," I repeated. "That is up to you."

"Man..." he grumbled.

Repeat the above, literally, for the next fifteen minutes, and you'd get to what was then, now.

"Ethan," I said. "You need to pick. It's a school night. We can't stay here much longer."

The Elder Boy grabbed a World War II bucket of army men that had four pockets which included U.S., British, German, and Japanese army men and asked, "How about this one. How many is it?"

"How much is it," I corrected. "That's $17.99, plus tax. But let's just say it costs eighteen dollars."

"Do I have enough?" he asked.

"No. You have only eight dollars."

"Oh." he said.

"I pick fast." Wy said.

"Wyatt!" Ethan shouted, " Don't stir it up!!!"

"ETHAN!" Wy yelled.

"GUYS!" I said trying to stop all hell from breaking loose in Hobby Lobby. "Chill out. Ethan, if you want to get that bucket of army men, I will loan you the ten dollars you'll need to buy it."

"REALLY?" he asked.

"Yes." I answered. "Do you understand what I mean by loan? That you will be borrowing the money from me. I'm not giving you the money. You will pay me back."

Nothing. Blank stare.

"It's like this Boy," I explained. "You have eight dollars. The five Old Granny sent plus the three in change you've been saving. The bucket you want is eighteen dollars. If you subtract eight from eighteen you get ten. That's what you need. I will give you ten dollars, so you have the eighteen dollars, but you have to pay me back later."

"REALLY?!?!" he asked.

"Yes. Really. You have to pay me back. Do you understand that? If Old Granny sends you money like she did this time, the next time she sends you five dollars, you will have to give me that five dollars. It is mine. Until you pay me back ten dollars."

"Yeah." he said in a way that made me think he didn't fully understand.

"Do you understand?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Ok, let's go then." I said. "Let's roll Wy Wy."

"Ok Dad." Wy said as he hopped off the stocker's rack ladder thing. "I pick fast."

"Yes. You do son." I said.

We were half way to the check out area when Ethan stopped in the aisle and asked, "Is this against the law?"

"What?" I asked. "You mean me giving you credit?"

"Yeah?" he said.

"No. People do it all the time actually." I explained.

"Oh." he said.

"Let's go." I said.

"Dad," Ethan asked.

"Yeah," I said knowing what was coming next.

"Would you pick this?"

On the way home Ethan sat quietly with his Hobby Lobby bucket of army men as Wy talked about his dog figurine purchase and how he was going to put that dog with the other dogs and line them up by size, or something to that effect. Ethan, I noted looked troubled so I asked, "E, what's up?"

"I feel sick." he said.

"Because of what you bought?" I asked.

"Yeah." he said.

"Dude, you think too hard. You got what they call buyer's remorse over an eighteen dollar bucket of army men purchase. It should make you happy, but you're not happy."

"I'm worried." he said.

"That you made a bad choice?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I understand Boy. Believe me I do. I do the same thing when I buy stuff. Just ask Mom, I'll stand in the beer store for a long time debating on whether or not I should spent an additional 75 cents for something I want, and end up not doing it because something else is on sale. I know I'm being silly, but I still do it."

"Yeah." he said.

"This might help," I said.

"The reason we went to Hobby Lobby in the first place, is because you wanted to get army men that you had first spotted when we did your pinewood derby car for cub scouts."

"You could have went to Dollar Tree and blew your money, but you wanted to wait until today to go to Hobby Lobby. And then tonight at dinner, you talked about how you wanted different colored army men, and how you wanted to have their flags too."

"Yeah." he said.

"Does that bucket of army men have different color guys?"

"Yeah."

"And does each group have their own flag?"

"Yeah?" he said. "Here's the German's, right here."

Nice. The Boy is smarter than me and can identify the German Flag (I was looking for the Nazi Flag, which I guess in not political correct these days.)

"The other army guys, they had some cool accouterments and stuff, but you already have tanks and other army toys. You didn't need that stuff and if you would have got them, then you wouldn't have gotten what you said you wanted."

"Yeah."

"So I think you made a good choice." I said. "You got what you wanted. Now you're just thinking too hard. Second guessing yourself."

"Yeah." he said smiling.

"And you owe me ten dollars." I reminded. "Don't forget."

"I won't." he said.

"Did I make a good choice?" Wy asked.

"Yes Wy Wy. You made a good choice." I said. "And you know what else?"

"What?" both Boy(s) asked at the same time.

"Wy picks fast."

Later that night, Ethan called out for me from his room as My Lovely Bride and I were watching How I Met Your Mother on Time Warner's Bastardized Tivo thing.

Grumbling about the interruption, My Lovely Bride offered to go check on him. She wasn't even to his room, when I felt that pang of regret for not getting up off my country ass to see what the Boy wanted. I mean, really, How I Met Your Mother which was taped, or my first born son who is growing up faster than I want to admit. Fuck me.

Walking down the hall I heard My Lovely Bride ask him, "Let me see you move it."

I walked into the room in time to see the Elder Boy move his front tooth nearly in a 45 degree angle which made my want to puke.

"Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww." I said as I turned and walked back out the door.

Five minutes later, his fourth tooth (and first front) was in his hand and he was testing his new smile in the bathroom mirror.



Before we went to bed that night, I looked in my wallet and nearly shit. I actually had three dollars, which I put under E's pillow on my way to bed. I couldn't find the tooth though since My Lovely Bride hadn't sequestered it in a sandwich type bag.

The next morning The Elder Boy came into the front room and said, "My tooth," and then held up the three dollars with a confused look on his face.

My Lovely Bride, much better in real time than me, gave him some reason for it as I walked to the back of the house to get ready to take the Boy to school and to go to work.

I was pulling on my pants when he walked into the bedroom, smiling that new style smile.

"What's up Boy?" I asked.

"Here." he said, handing me back the three dollars I had put under his pillow the night before.

"This is for the army men, right?" I asked.

"Yeah." he said smiling.

"Nice," I said giving him a hug. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." he said as he spun and started out of the room.

"Boy," I said.

"Yeah."

"You still owe me seven dollars."

Until I BLOG again...Between now and then.