Saturday, February 2, 2019

My son is six years old and I'm working in the garage while he reads The Big Book of Knowledge in the living room. The book is hard covered and thick. It's a single volume encyclopedia of information spelled out for young readers to encapsulate the universe as we understand it into a ridiculously convenient package. His mother elsewhere and out of the house leaves us home alone. We're two ferrel males doing what we please and minding our own business. We communicate with single syllable words, looks, nods and grunts. We have an understanding: don't bother me unless you're bleeding, something's on fire or you have a good fart joke. At this point in Max's life he could already operate the stove, make his own quesadilla and destroy the house without any direction from me. So I had no worries with him being inside by himself...plus he's smarter than me.
The door to the garage from the house is at the end of a long narrow laundry room that shares a wall with the garage, so anyone in the garage can hear anyone in the laundry room. I was working away spray painting some project I had just finished and enjoying the paint fumes in a euphoric bliss when I heard the pitter patter of feet on the hard linoleum floor of the laundry room and Max's little voice calling out "Daddy!, Hey Dad..." His voice wasn't distressed or scared. It was a voice of 'hey I got a good fart joke.' At that moment I climbed to the top of the six steps to the landing where the garage door met the laundry room and crouched down waiting for Max to open the door so I could scare him. He opened the door and there I was growling at him with my hands held near my ears with fingers curled into make believe claws. Max instantly raised the Big Book of Knowledge over his head and brought down upon mine. It threw me back onto my ass and I sat there stunned as I looked at Max's wide eyes.

"You scared me Dad. I wanted to show you something in the Big Book of Knowledge."
"I think you just did Max. Well done..."