As a kid, I devoted a lot of time to playing sports. I had some success and earned a college scholarship. Playing ball occupied much of my time.
I have no regrets about the time that I devoted to athletics, but in doing so, I missed out on some things that other boys may have enjoyed. I did not hunt or fish, and I did not play with lizards, snakes, frogs, mice, etc.
My lack of experience in these areas came to haunt me this past week.
On Tuesday, I got a call at work from Cheryl, advising me that the boys went fishing. Fishing... are you kidding me?
When we first got married, Cheryl bought me a fishing pole for Christmas. She said that she wanted to get me something that I would never guess, and that I did not have. She was right... I could have had a thousand guesses, and I never would have guessed a fishing pole. She could have shoved it up my nose and I would have assumed that it was for somebody else.
I had never fished... and I had never expressed any interest in fishing. She might as well have bought me a bra... although I must admit that I have expressed some interest in bras. The point is that I would have gotten about the same amount of use out of it.
Anyway... the boys went fishing... and apparently our youngest son could not cast, so he had the bright idea to grab the hook & lure, and throw it out into the water. I am not sure whether to be proud that he was using a baseball skill to throw that baby out into the water... or to be disappointed that he was so dopey as to think this would work without resulting in having a fish hook embedded in his finger... or as he described it... "in my best finger on my favorite hand."
So now I get the call asking how to get a fish hook out of a finger. How am I supposed to know? The last time I touched a fishing pole was seventeen years ago on Christmas Day.
My response was predictable, "This is why I don't fish," which suggests that I have thought about having a fish hook stuck in my finger, when in reality that has never crossed my mind. Off to Nightime Pediatrics!!!
Fortunately, Cheryl made several calls to some friends and found a nurse friend who was able to get it out without too much trouble. Our boy was very brave, and managed to parlay that into an extra topping on his ice cream that night. This, of course, prompted our other son to inquire what he could get for a very bad blister on his heel.
This fish story is small potatoes compared to what happened a couple of days later.
On Sunday, we were cleaning out our basement. Typically, when the kids have friends over and they aren't out fishing, they go down to the basement and play/destroy/ruin/spill/litter.
Cheryl and I were giving it a long-overdue cleaning when a wild beast came out from the darkest corner of the room. Okay, a mouse ran out from under a couch and Cheryl screamed. This is when the fun started.
Cheryl advised me that it was under a shelf, and described it as "small, brown and very fast." This is the same description that I have heard many NFL commentators use to describe New Orleans Saints running back Reggie Bush, and I wanted about as much to do with tackling this mouse as I do with tackling Reggie Bush.
She then instructed me to go get a tupperware bowl. Why? you ask?... So I can trap little Reggie. This would require that I get close to this monster.
She then came up with a plan. She would force the mouse out from under the furniture, and I would throw the tupperware over him. This was great... except for every time I saw little Reggie, I turned and ran in the opposite direction.
This little dance continued until Cheryl blew her assignment by letting little Reggie fake her out and escape out of the room.
I pursued the shifty rascal and herded him into the bathroom. Now this is where I displayed bravery beyond all expectations. I slammed the door, and set up a blockade that rivaled Alcatraz. The problem was that we could not leave him in there forever, so I had to go in... just Mano v. Mouso.
Of course, I had a mouse trap... and my plan was to open the door, place the trap, reseal the perimeter and let things develop. All I can add at this point is... final score... Man 1... Mouse 0.
I must say, it was like Lord of the Flies and I was the alpha male. Well... I didn't squeal like a girl and that is something to be proud of.
In retrospect... I could have spent a few more hours doing some other stuff----fishing and hunting come to mind!
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