“I know it’s still lying even if you’re trying to protect someone, Ivy. Sure it’s a rationalization, maybe even a leap, but…never-mind. Now that we asked the boy for help, we have to tell him.”
It certainly was a unique predicament, to be poolside and experiencing some mobility difficulties that were interfering with me getting back in the house. What would be useful is something that has a seat and that doubles as a floatation device. It’s a scary feeling when your vision is clouded and you can’t think logically. This time, all of the outcomes I could envision had me on the bottom of the pool. I certainly wasn’t going to let that happen, at least not with witnesses.
I have a secret; in fact, I have many. One that I managed to keep guarded is that I have not only one, but two walkers, one of which has a seat, that with some creativity, could double as a floatation device. Seldom do I take them out side, rarely during daylight hours, and never in Michigan. I confess I have had to sneak my cane outside once or twice, but only to get the Wonder Pup’s chain unwrapped from a young bush in the front yard.
For the last few years, maybe more, I have taken artistic liberty with the facts, telling my son that my cane was the source of my back-up power, hence the two AAA batteries. Fortunately, in the times that we live, the truth is subjective. I have the freedom to call my cane anything I want. If I choose to tell people that it belonged to Moses, because I found it in the yard sale of Charlton Heston’s barber, it must be. Who could argue?
Certainly, it would be foolish to argue with the brain-trust that rendered entire police agencies non-essential and declared that dead Europeans are the cause of everything that is wrong with our country. From their push for the metric system to their hand in the development of the Delorean, their past need not define our future.
Where is the moral ambiguity in the little white lies that we tell our kids; Santa Clause, the Easter bunny, the estimates created by the CDC, they are all real, are they not? A riot is actually just an alternate form of expression…
[loudspeaker alert] ”Mr. Van Dyk, you will need to step away from the soapbox.”
Sorry, I got a little too close to the line.
Our kids deserve to know the truth. They can handle it. Eventually, they will root out the benign from the idiotic, the Holiday Hoaxes from the sacred traditions, and a riot from just another game of Monopoly gone bad. Better they hear the truth from someone who knows and cares about them than from a news outlet that has pledged to disseminate all of the news that is fit to print.
“I know pup, I’m stalling but I need to make a point. Besides, didn’t we decide that you were going to tell him? He’s 18 now. I think he needs to hear it from you.”
I ran through all of the scenarios that my creative imaginative mind could construct. Unfortunately, none of them allowed for my version of events to remain intact. I re-examined the slope of the concrete around the pool, I measured the height of the stairs leading down to the sliding door. I counted the number of steps from the back of the house to the front. My plan should have worked.
“Ok, I’ll tell him. How embarrassing!
Son, I need to tell you something that I probably should have told you a long time ago. That thing I hid behind the closet door, that we asked you to get, It’s called a rollerator — it’s a fancy name for a walker. I know that’s not what I told you it was. It’s not a dog sled and Ivy isn’t a musher. And for future reference, rollerators don’t float.
That went better than I thought it would.
Happy birthday, son! Thanks for assisting in the rescue operation. Now that you are 18, you might want to think about a career as an EMT. You’re a natural!
Thanks for reading, liking and sharing,
Al and his faithful, but decisive sidekick, Ivy the Wonder Pup.
Do me a favor, ask if you will receive training on how to get a rollerator out of the bottom of the pool. It might come in handy.
Through Ivy’s Eyes ~ Mush Doggy
