Hit with darts of laughter
It started with the palms.
My 15-year-old and I were seated in a pew at church on Palm Sunday, the celebration of Jesus’ triumphant entry to Jerusalem the week of his Crucifixion. As the choir sang a beautiful hymn, the children made their way through the sanctuary from the narthex and handed palms to each worshipper. Some of us, myself included, received several palms, and I laid my extras next to me while we prayed and sang.
Moments later, as we were responsively reading the call to worship, I felt a tickle on my neck. I shrugged my shoulders and it passed. A second later, I felt it again, and again I shrugged it away. A third time and a third shrug. Then, the tickle touched my ear canal and I swatted at my face. Giggling erupted beside me (and behind me) as it finally dawned on me that my ornery daughter was using her palm fronds to agitate me.
She is quite a mischievous little bugger sometimes. The problem is, her jokes and pranks are generally harmless and most often are really funny, so it is difficult to discipline it out of her. And honestly, this world could use a little more harmless laughter, so why would I want her to stop?
Still, there are occasions where her sense of humor drives me crazy, and Sunday afternoon was one of those times. We were at my dad’s house, continuing the process of cleaning and repairing it. My sister had come to help, and she and I were bagging up items and taking down shelving in anticipation of painting in the weeks to come.
I asked my daughter to come out of another room to help me take several bags of trash downstairs. She asked if she could finish what she was doing. I agreed and continued cleaning. A few minutes later, I asked her if she was ready to come and help me. She again begged for a few more minutes, and I allowed her to continue her task.
After another few minutes had passed, I went into the bedroom where she was “working” and caught her with a blow gun – an actual blow gun – in her mouth. She stopped just after inhaling and looked over at me, grinning sheepishly.
My mouth dropped open as I realized that this was the thing she “needed to finish” before assisting me.
No, I have no idea where she got it, or why she has it. I know she would never take it to school, nor would she hurt anyone or anything with it, but her sense of timing on when to use it needs some work. I was incredibly frustrated with her for choosing to play with it when I needed her, but the look on her face when I caught her, and the abject absurdity of finding her with it in the first place, won out and I cracked a smile.
That was all she needed to see. She let out the breath she had been holding and the dart flew. It landed in a rolled up piece of carpet padding that was leaned in the closet, alongside the other darts that she had blown. Having emptied her quiver, she calmly retrieved all of her darts and replaced them in their case.
Then – wisely – she walked out of the room and began to carry bags of trash downstairs. I followed her, shaking my head and chuckling at the same time.
Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.