Each day, when waiting to pick up my oldest son, my youngest two children jump out of the car to play in a large grassy area with some of their school friends also suffering through the dreaded carpool wait that has been known to send worn out moms straight to the rubber room in the nearest psyche ward.
(If someone knows of a pick-up and drop-off system at a school that doesn’t cause parents to gnash their teeth together and ruin all remaining enamel, please detail your plan in a comment. Our local dentists thank you in advance for your willingness to help.)
Sitting in the carpool line today without my cell phone, MomAgenda or current issue of Southern Living Magazine, I passed the time by observing a phenomenon I’ve never contemplated before. It involved about a dozen little boys, all in the age range of four to six, and they were all doing the exact same thing repeatedly. They never changed direction once during this time period, never stopped to ask each other if maybe they wanted to try something different, or even considered that what they were doing might be monotonous.
It wasn’t necessary. They were perfectly content and altogether full of joy to continue their chosen task of tackling each other. One little boy would tackle one friend, jump up and then tackle another, while the previous fellow tackled would recover, look around and then find someone new to pounce upon. Over and over for a solid twenty minutes, this continued until the carpool line started to move.
It was the darndest thing.
They weren’t playing football, or a made-up game or even emulating Friday Night Smack Down with cool names like Super Krazy Kindergartner or The Freaky 4K Foo Fighter. They were simply tackling each other simply for the pleasure of well,…tackling.
(As a side note, if you have a little extra time or this post has bored you silly, check out this site. You enter your name and it provides you FREE OF CHARGE a wrestling name to replace your own. My own name converted is DEAR NINJA, which is a little puzzling, unless letter writing skills in between the ropes is considered frightening to one’s wrestling opponent.)
Watching these boys tackle one another demonstrated yet again how VASTLY different boys are from girls, men are from women. Although somewhat of a tomboy growing up, it never occurred to me to tackle another girl, not when the school bully purposely tripped me up at the skating rink while trying to demonstrate backward skating skills or as an adult, when a spiteful lady wheeled into the parking space I was patiently waiting for even though proper signaling with my blinker was CLEAR TO ALL IN VIEW.
But maybe we’re missing out on something fun. Those little boys exhibited pure delight today, and were having a ball. Unabashed happiness found in one simple act.
So maybe I’ll try it. Next time I’m with my bible study group or at lunch with a friend, I’ll square my shoulders, put my head down and go straight for the tackle. I’ll let you know how my Dear Ninja Maneuver is received.