ImPerceptibility

Archive for the ‘Oldest’ Category

“In middle school they label you like a soup can.”

That’s what my older daughter told me when we were driving to the store. I waited for her to continue and in a few minutes she did.

“T. says I could be a prep because I am tall, thin, and pretty. I’d have to make my hair blonde though.”

“We could pick up some hair color at the store.” I said. My heart was hoping she would say no. Just in case, I prepared my speech.

“I don’t want to have blonde hair. Maybe some highlights.”

I breathed a little easier.

“Preps don’t like to get dirty. I do.”

I recalled the many loads of grass stained jeans and muddy sneakers I have washed over the past 10 and a half years.

“I could be a tomboy” She told me. “Or an athlete. I like sports.”

She went on to tell me about all the labels she could be. I listened but my heart felt heavy. I didn’t want her to label herself. I didn’t want anyone else to do it either.

“So, have you figured out what you are?” I asked after a few minutes.

“I’m a homeschooler, I guess.”

I was a bit apprehensive when I asked her about the homeschooler label.

“It means I can be anything I want.”

My heart was no longer heavy. I hoped she would feel that way for the rest of her life.

I parked the car and told her to take her preppy, brainy, athletic, goth tomboy rear-end over to get a cart. I had a big smile on my face. Until the youngest chimed in.

“I want to color my hair purple!”

Yeah, that title was for the search engines, but the story is for you. I know how you enjoy public humiliation stories.

When my oldest daughter was three we would stop by a local Chinese restaurant to have lunch with my mom. We did this every week and we all looked forward to it. My oldest also looked forward to the bouncy ball machine on the way out. Each week she would get a quarter from Grandma and hope for a red ball. Each week she would get every other color but red.

She was so good about it. She never whined or cried. She would say, “I’ll get one next time.” I was very impressed with her patience and optimism. Each week I hoped she’d get a red one.

Then one week it happened. She put her quarter in the slot and turned the dial. The look of joy on her face told the story before I even spied the little red ball in her grasp. She held it up as if she had just won the gold Olympic medal and proudly showed it to everyone in the restaurant. At this point, I had no idea this ball would lead to my bloody downfall.

We started to walk to our car when it happened. The red ball broke it way free from her hands and started bouncing across the parking lot. In shock, I stood and looked at it for a second. Then I realized it was bouncing it way to the storm drain. This is when my super-powers kicked in.

I tossed the baby I was carrying to my mom and took off with super-human speed toward the wayward ball. There was only one thought in my mind and that was, “There is no way in Hell that ball is going down the drain!”

Time seemed to stop. The world shrunk to me, a red ball, and the gaping mouth of a hungry storm drain. The ball was bouncing closer and closer to its demise, but I was closing in. It was just out of my reach when my progress was abruptly halted by a pothole; a fairly deep one at that.

My foot went in the hole and stopped. The rest of me kept on going until it hit the asphalt. It took a few seconds to figure out what had happened and get back up. My elbow and knees were scrapped and my ankle didn’t feel so good. At this point it didn’t bother me. I was more worried about the lost ball.

My daughter walked over to the storm drain, about to have the temper tantrum of her life, when she suddenly reached down and came running back. The ball had stopped about three inches from the opening. I was so happy until I realized I was bleeding. I was deciding if I was going to cry or yell when my youngest decided to yell for me. “Mommy BOOM!” We all started to laugh. It was the better option.

So my daughter finally got her red bouncy ball. The lunch crowd at the Chinese restaurant got some entertainment. And somehow, I got all the credit for saving the ball. When my daughter told the story, I bounced so hard on the ground it made the ball stop rolling. It’s great to be a hero.