It was a normal autumn day. My son, Josh, had just arrived home from a half day of kindergarten. The fall leaves blew in the wind, danced in the sky, before cascading onto the rain-slicked sidewalk. My three dogs were running in and out the house through the dog door, tracking mud all over the hardwood floors. All was normal and sane.
I had been typing all morning in a desperate attempt to finish an article for the Friday edition of The El Hispanic News, and still had some editing to do. Editing should not take me too long, so I popped a movie in to the DVD player, and sat my son on the couch with a peanut butter sandwich, and a promise to not get into anything. My boy could be a handful when left to his own devices, but I was confident the editing would not take long, and that the movie would occupy him without me supervising.
I went back into my office, and began to go over my article with a microscope. A few phone calls interrupted, but mostly undisturbed, I engrossed myself into my work. Green pen in hand I tore my article apart, and proudly reconstructed it.
Finally, looking at the clock on my office wall, I noticed that three hours had just skipped by. How did that happen? The house was still, and I realized my son's movie had been over for quite some time. What was the little darling up to? Everything was too quiet for anything good to happen. I should give him a chance though. Maybe the angel-in-training had just fallen asleep.
I walked into the living room to see that the movie was starting again, and there were no dogs or son there. The room-to-room search began. No Josh in his room, the girls' room, my room, the bathroom, or the kitchen, and then I heard a yelp.
"Mom! Mom, help me!" it was not a cry of pain, but one of panic.
"Where are you, Josh?" I hollered trying to get a grasp of where he was.
"In here, Mom!" It was coming from the spare room. Why hadn't I checked there?
Upon entering the room, I was not prepared for what I saw. My son was wearing only his underpants, which were hooked to suspenders, which were tied to the top of the bunk bed. My son was dangling, butt and legs in air, arms swinging, trying to free himself. As I entered, his little blond head looked up.
"Hi, Mom, I'm stuck."
"What are you doing?"
"Bungee jumping, but I got stuck. These suspenders don't bounce much."
I walked over to unhook his underpants from the suspenders. Holding my son upside down I almost dropped him. He started giggling as he passed gas in my sloppy embrace.
"I farted!"
"Yeah, I noticed. Come on into my room, Josh. We need to have a talk."
For the next hour or so, my son explained how he had watched some movie called Jackass at my father's house with my fifteen-year-old brother. I got all the gory details on bungee jumping in underwear, placing raw chicken meat in your butt then teasing alligators, and all sorts of other stupid acts. Josh made it sound as if it was the best piece of cinematography ever produced.
I sat there and listened to this wonderful experience my son had had with my brother. I listened as my five-year-old told me how his uncle hooked a wagon to his bike so that nephew and uncle could jump speed bumps at the nearby university. I was holding back comments as I heard about jumping off the garage into an inflatable mattress below. He laughed as he described being placed in the dog harness with a rope attached to it only to be lowered into the neighbor's yard to steal apples from their tree. No wonder my son loves to spend time with my brother. I would definitely be having a sister-brother talk soon.
As for Josh, we made a deal. There would be no more crazy stunts to be performed without grown-up supervision, for safety of course. Jake, my brother, did not qualify as a grown up, and a list of acceptable substitutes for Mom and Dad was made.
My son is safe, for now. Lord only knows when the next daredevil moment will hit.
