Author: J. Thorp

Summer Vacation, Day 87: Sicko!

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I’m sticking my neck out a bit in hopes that Jodi and I aren’t alone in what happened to us today. Actually, today was all my fault. Allow me to explain …

We took the older boys to tai chi class, then all of us (the entire family, including Betsy), went to Como Zoo in St. Paul. It was hot, but we were drinking lots of water, and there was a nice breeze blowing. No worries, right?

Now, our kids are generally gung-ho for a visit to a park, a zoo, a mall, you name it – at least until we get there. The enthusiasm generally wanes after a little while of walking, and they start to complain they are tired, hungry, bored, etc.

So as we’re going through the butterfly garden (slow going in “bumper-to-bumper” pedestrian traffic), Gabe keeps crouching down in the path, sitting down, flopping around in front of people. And I’m getting after him about it, because I figure he’s getting lazy and grumpy and now is not the time.

Finally he basically sits on by foot, and I give him a light kick in the butt and say, “Gabe! Keep moving!”

Jodi puts her arm around him and asks if he’s feeling alright.

“He’s fine,” I growl.

We’re headed back to the car, but Jodi, Emma and Trevor need the rest room. Bren, Gabe and I decide to walk the little rainforest loop near the entrance. Halfway through, Gabe says, “Dad, I need to get out of here.” I look, and he’s pale as a milk jug – even his lips are white. We rush him out, sit him down, and give him sips of water. Jodi asks if he’s gonna be sick. He thinks a moment, then looks at me and says, “I need to get to the bathroom …”

We made it about halfway. I was trying to steer his through the crowd and keep my cupped hands in front of him. When he erupted, those big ol’ hands successfully made the mess twice as bad by keeping it close to us. Gabe’s shirt, shorts and shoes; my hands, forearms, and shoes. Once bystanders realized what was happening, the sea of people parted, and we made it to the bathroom … just in time to clean up.

There is no worse feeling in the world than to blame your child for something they didn’t do, except maybe to not recognize there’s something genuinely wrong until it’s too late. Combine the two, and it’s miserable. I apologized to Gabe. He thinks puking on me was pretty good revenge.

Summer Vacation, Day 86: Summer’s End

/ J. Thorp / 6 Comments

Well, here it is – the last, long weekend of summer. I think this daily blogging sped the days by quicker than usual (and they pass quick enough, anyway!). After Monday, it’s back to the occasional/as needed blog posts. I’ll try to give you three more good’ns before then, but tonight, I’m tired and it’s late.

Thanks, all, for reading. If you never commented, do – it does a guy good to know you’re there.

Summer Vacation, Day 86: The Edge

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Blogger’s Note: I think I’m done now. No more weird poetry in the archive. I don’t know what inspired me to this “any moment you could snap” stuff, but there it is. Enjoy.

that edge is closer than you think
stand a minute, knowing well the world
is round, rain wets, life breathes,
love conquers all.
what proof have we? do we know
even ourselves? our own potential
to disappoint is manifest—are we not
of the world? why then persist?
rise tomorrow, should it come, and
convince yourself of absolutes,
relativity, the gravity that binds.
the sun will rise, the snow fall,
the market rebound, the phone ring—
and when these things do not,
jump

J. Thorp
22 Jan 2002

Summer Vacation, Day 85: Birds and Bees

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On the way to the work this morning, I heard a lengthy news piece on the benefits of talking with kids about sexuality early and often. Jodi and I were leaders of our church’s high-school youth group in Michigan, and we heard firsthand where some our teens were getting their info – teen comedies and hip-hop, mostly. I wrote this in the midst of that, as I recall.

what kids need to know
it’s not like the movies,
first off—
it is never the best ever;
rarely slow, and almost never
graceful.
the lighting is rarely gold or even
blue, and it doesn’t set well to
music.

not everyone is doing
it — fewer than you’d think from
the sounds.
your folks, however, are — and that’s
good; you want that, even if you don’t care
to know.
maybe it’s just once a week, a month, but
God do they deserve it — don’t begrudge them that
one thing.

its beauty isn’t really meant for
pictures — like childbirth, the aesthetics are
lacking.
remember, on the playground, when they said how
it was done? that great and sinking feeling that somehow it
was true?
these miracles are less of water to wine, and more of raising
Lazarus, the crucifixion, a plague of frogs — glorious but not
pretty.

you know how easy it is but not
how hard, how complex it can be, even
in love.
the mechanics are a snap; anyone can do
it — houseflies are adept, and you’re no
insect —
but it complicates. it breeds life, from which
you cannot turn — not without killing something
like love.

J. Thorp
23 Jan 2002

Summer Vacation, Day 84: I Knew Someone

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… like this. She was a sad soul, but a good friend. I learned a lot. Maybe not enough, but quite a bit.

she smiles
she smiles sometimes.
her face breaks;
cheeks pucker, lips part.
she smiles —
crow’s feet clench.
she smiles, a gash,
a tight pink scar.
It cracks, bleeds,
and, at the pain,
she smiles she’ll never
smile again.

J. Thorp
09 Nov 2001