Every family has those stories that will always be told, the ones that become funnier the more you tell them. Even people that weren't present know them by heart-- when you join a family by marriage, learning them is a rite of passage. And it's certainly hilarious watching your sister-in-law hear a little bit about her husband as a child. There's the time I managed to kick myself in the back of the head when my dad was "teaching" me how to dive. There's also the time my youngest brother lit a fire because he got scared. In a tree stand. That he was IN!
But this story is about my middle brother, Sean. Middle children are funny creatures. I've never heard one deny this. Sean is no exception.
Every week after Wednesday evening church service, my dad would take my brothers and I out for ice cream and we'd eat it on the way home. Usually it was Chick-fil-A. This Wednesday it was a delicious Wendy's Frosty. Sean was sitting in the front passenger seat while my dad drove us home, trying to drink his out of a straw. "Dad, my hands are cold from holding the Frosty." Dad hands him a napkin to wrap around the cup. "Dad, I can't get any Frosty. It won't come up the straw." Dad hands him a spoon. "Dad, my spoon broke!" My dad, without really saying anything, rolls down his window, and chucks the frosty. Tears ensue (of course). Sean is so upset that I'm pretty sure Dad went and got him another frosty.
Now, to be fair, Sean was still a little kid, probably elementary school age. And stories do get embellished along the way, just like any oral history. But now, in my family, when someone is annoying you in a car, you may threaten to do a "droid toss," "ipod toss," "chapstick toss," or in the case of say, yesterday, a "Mickey toss." To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever actually done it again. That doesn't make it any less tempting.
I was driving Dane around town to run some errands. He's got this not-so-new, perfected ability to take his shoes off and hurl them on the floorboard, along with his water cup and whatever toy is essential to his and my sanity at the moment. He did it every single time we got in the car yesterday. I'd hear a shoe. Clunk. Then the other shoe. Clunk. Then hard plastic Mickey Mouse hits the window and I grit my teeth and tell myself over and over "he's two, Melissa, he's two."
And here's Dane, sobbing: "Mickey, mickey, mickey."
Me: "Mama can't get Mickey right now, she's driving."
Dane: "Shoes, shoes, waaaahhhhhhhhh!"
At this point, I want to pull the car over and throw Mickey and his shoes out forever. But I'm keenly aware of two things: kids' shoes are not cheap and unlike a frosty, I can't just run through the drive-thru window to replace Mickey. So all I can do is laugh as I remember the original Frosty Toss, thinking my dad had lost his mind, and for the first time understanding that yes, he had lost his mind, and it was all our fault.
So happy birthday, Dane! I'll try my best not to chuck your Frosty.
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