Games Daddies Play
Yes, yes. Been a long time and whatnot. Let's just dispense with the preliminaries, shall we?
Much has been happening in our world these last few months. The banjo twangs have been getting more purposeful (and on-key), and the swimming pool water has been inching toward bearable while the weather inches toward unbearable in equal fashion. Connor and I have also invented a brand new game that we call Creeper Catch, after his favorite rogue from his new favorite show—any one of the many Scooby Doo variants.
The Creeper aka Mr. Carswell, the bank president. (He would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for, well, you know...)
It started by accident, as all good games do. (Who throws a ball into a peach basket expecting to invent a multi-gazillion-dollar behemoth?) Connor and I were playing in the den when I started to pretend I was the Creeper, and he ran away at full speed, halfway pretending to be
scared. Without really thinking, I reached out and grabbed one of his bedroom slippers and chucked it at him. Just before he turned the corner into the kitchen (a good 20 feet away from where I was lying on the floor), the slipper knicked him on the heel. For about two seconds, he freaked out, thinking that I had closed the distance between us at an otherwise unbelievable rate. Once he figured it out, though, he started to laugh, and thus Creeper Catch was born.
Between the 30 minutes that he spent sprinting through the house to avoid flying bedroom slippers and the 45 minutes spent shivering in the swimming pool (the weather hasn't quite become unbearable enough for the pool to be comfortably bearable yet, apparently), he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Just remember, when your children's children are reading in their history books about the birth of Creeper Catch, you can say you read about it here first.
Much has been happening in our world these last few months. The banjo twangs have been getting more purposeful (and on-key), and the swimming pool water has been inching toward bearable while the weather inches toward unbearable in equal fashion. Connor and I have also invented a brand new game that we call Creeper Catch, after his favorite rogue from his new favorite show—any one of the many Scooby Doo variants.
The Creeper aka Mr. Carswell, the bank president. (He would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for, well, you know...) It started by accident, as all good games do. (Who throws a ball into a peach basket expecting to invent a multi-gazillion-dollar behemoth?) Connor and I were playing in the den when I started to pretend I was the Creeper, and he ran away at full speed, halfway pretending to be
scared. Without really thinking, I reached out and grabbed one of his bedroom slippers and chucked it at him. Just before he turned the corner into the kitchen (a good 20 feet away from where I was lying on the floor), the slipper knicked him on the heel. For about two seconds, he freaked out, thinking that I had closed the distance between us at an otherwise unbelievable rate. Once he figured it out, though, he started to laugh, and thus Creeper Catch was born.Between the 30 minutes that he spent sprinting through the house to avoid flying bedroom slippers and the 45 minutes spent shivering in the swimming pool (the weather hasn't quite become unbearable enough for the pool to be comfortably bearable yet, apparently), he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Just remember, when your children's children are reading in their history books about the birth of Creeper Catch, you can say you read about it here first.
posted by Carter at 8:26 PM
2 Comments:
What are you talking about? We played that way back when you lived with me. I thought that was OUR special game. Is nothing sacred anymore?
The weather isn't bearable yet? Don't you live in the South? Isn't it always like 30C degrees down there?
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