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The Swing of Things
Why a Dad Went Back to the Park By Mark Stackpole
Now that my daughter Corinne is 3, she is old enough to blame for the stupid things that her daddy has done. Spills on the floor? Rin did it. Weird smells in the fridge? Rinna. Wanting brownies for breakfast, candy for lunch and popcorn for dinner? The genius of my young daughter.
My son Lucas is not quite 2, and I am already looking forward to being able to blame him for stuff. ("There's a football stuck where? Honey, I don't know anything about that.") And let's not even start to talk about all of the stuff that I plan to pin on my unborn son, Christopher. He's like manna from heaven.
The highlight of my refusal to take responsibility came with a recent trip to the doctor's office. It seems that a certain cotton swab had been shoved into a certain ear, which subsequently became infected and swollen shut. Remember the old adage about the only thing that you should put in your ear is your elbow? Yeah, well, I've been an amateur ear wax remover for my whole life (it's more of an art form in my family), and I wasn't about to listen to a bunch of ear doctors and experts. Daddy had a little wax, a few cotton swabs and clearly too much free time.
As I was waxing poetic, there came a cry from the other room. This usually means that Corinne is about to fall from a dangerous height or Lucas has stolen one of her dolls. Either situation is a bit of a disaster. At any rate, my head turned. My ear turned. And the cotton swab remained in exactly the same space.
The ultimate result? A cotton swab so far into my skull that my brain stopped itching. Once the haze of pain lifted, I removed the cotton swab and fell to the floor, screaming "Elbows! Elbows! Have I learned nothing?" But, of course, I had learned at least one thing. Blame Corinne. (OK, two things it hurts A LOT worse than you think it does. Take my word for it.)
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