My wife just brought Oliver in for a quick visit here at school, which is always a lot of fun. I think it helps humanize me to my students, who I assume otherwise see me as a wonderfully funny, shockingly handsome, and exceedingly generous fount of inerrent knowledge. There’s just something about seeing a man, even a great man, wipe boogers off the face of a toddler – somehow it levels us all.
Despite the fact that I am his amazing father, Oliver didn’t show much interest in me while in the building. Instead, he seemed enamored with the wide open hallways and beaming students doting over him. Our house is made up of small room, narrow halls, disinterested cats, and tired adults, so this was something entirely new for him. Delighted, he raced off as fast as he could and squealed his satisfaction, like me in a Culver’s parking lot.
Watching the remarkable speeds he’s able to reach, I’m thinking of sending a tape into an Olympic track coach to see if there is some competetive edge our athletes could gain from him. When he runs, Oliver stays on his tiptoes, but keeps his head down. Simultaneously, he swings his arms up and down in front of his body, but never to the sides or behind. Also, he falls down sometimes. While it is admittedly veering and woefully asymmetrical, his style is poetic all the same, like a drunk Shaquille O’Neal somehow making 100 consecutive free throws.
All in all, it’s fun having my kid come in for a visit. It’s a good reminder why I’m working in the first place and where my priorities lie. Maybe next week I’ll see if Bridgette can bring in one of my Boba Fett posters from our bedroom so I can be reminded of the second-most important thing in my life.
It’s only fitting no one comments on writings like this dealing with human compassion, while the ones focused on angst and cat-bane are hot topics.
You’re right, John. We’re due for another visit from Professor Tickles!!
But in fairness to our author:
“…he raced off as fast as he could and squealed his satisfaction, like me in a Culver’s parking lot” is one of my favorite lines ever. Peter’s still got it. Don’t you ever doubt it.
I’m Elvis, and you two are my Memphis Mafia.
I admit, there’s something about a (supposedly) grown, bearded man using the word “squeal” to describe his actions that makes me shift my eyes awkwardly towards the floor.
If that’s the case, Peter, then I’ll start writing my tell-all book, “Peter: What Happened?”