Calfgrit10 lost a tooth last week. We had the usual excitement of it all, including talking about putting it under his pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Normally, we immediately put the tooth in a piece of tissue, folded up so it doesn’t get dropped and lost. This time, though, Calfgrit10 wanted to hold on to the tooth without it in a tissue. We weren’t sure why, but we let him keep up with it.

He kept it beside him as he played with his Lego toys. Come bedtime, he had lost it. (As expected.)

The next day, I looked around his room when he was out playing, and I found the tooth in the carpet among his Lego toys. I didn’t tell him I found it. I decided to let a life lesson play out. Throughout that day and the next, I kept checking to see if the tooth was still where I found it, and it stayed.

A couple days later, Calfgrit10 shouted, “I found my tooth!” I was at work, so he only told his mother. He also told her, “I’m not going to put it under my pillow.” This information was passed on to me.

Now, we know our boy. He’s got a critic’s skepticism and a scientist’s mind for experimentation. He has already started doubting Santa Clause, and the Tooth Fairy is a close relative. So I suspected he might secretly put the tooth under his pillow to see what happens when Mom and Dad don’t know it’s there.

That night, well after he’d had time to fall deeply asleep, I went into his room to check under his pillow. I took some quarters with me to replace the tooth if I found it. Usually, Calfgrit10 rolls off his pillow and sleeps on the side of his bed up against the wall. This time, though, he was sleeping on his back with his head right in the center of the pillow. I carefully felt under his pillow, all around where I could, but I didn’t find the tooth. It could be right under where his head was, but I couldn’t get under there without risking waking him up. So I left the room.

I thought maybe I should check around his room to see if the tooth was not under his pillow. I took my flashlight in with me and went back to look on his night stand, his dresser, his bookshelf, and on the floor. I didn’t see the tooth. That didn’t necessarily mean it was under his pillow, but there was still that big spot right under his head where I hadn’t felt. I reached under his pillow again and tried to very gently get my hand under the area under his head.

His eyes fluttered. I froze with my hand under his pillow. He rolled over away from me, towards the wall side of the bed. My fingers immediately felt the tooth.

He rolled back toward me and I barely got my hand out from under him before he pinned me down. I didn’t have the tooth.

He raised his hands above his head and stretched. I quietly stepped back away from his bed. His door was open, and the dim light from the hallway nightlight seemed glaring. I tried to stand in what little shadow there was in the room, but I felt like he would have to see me if he opened his eyes fully.

His stretching turned into arising. He kicked his covers off him and rolled out of bed. I stood just a couple of feet away, stock still and holding my breath. His feet touched the floor, and then he slowly walked past me and out his door. I could have reached over and touched him as he walked by. But he showed no sign of noticing me. He was either sleepwalking or I’m a freakin’ ninja.

He went to the hall bathroom. I stepped back to his bed and reached under his pillow. I grabbed the tooth, but I didn’t the quarters in my hand this time. (I had put them down to carry the flashlight.) While he was still in the bathroom, I snuck out of his bedroom.

I went to my bedroom to put away the tooth and get the quarters. With the quarters in hand, I stopped from leaving my bedroom. I heard Calfgrit10 flush the toilet. If I went now, we’d run into each other in the hall. And he’s probably more awake now than he was when he first got out of bed. I watched out the crack in my door. I watched him go back to his bedroom and get into bed. I waited.

I waited a good half hour for him to fall back to sleep. Then I left my bedroom, walked into his bedroom, and eyed him warily for any sign that he wasn’t fast asleep. When I was sure he was deep in dreamland, I tiptoed up to his bed, and slipped the quarters under his pillow about where the tooth had been. I smiled at my sneakiness, and then went to bed, myself.

The next day, he didn’t remember to check under his pillow until the afternoon. He showed his brother and then his mother the quarters the Tooth Fairy had left. When his mother commented that she thought he was not going to put it under his pillow, he admitted, “I said that to trick you.”

Three days later and he still hasn’t mentioned anything about it to me. As far as he knows I know, he lost his tooth.

He thinks he’s smart and slick, with his sneaky testing of the Tooth Fairy. But he just doesn’t understand how smart and slick and sneaky the Tooth Fairy and Santa Clause can be.

Unless, of course, he did see me in his room that night. But he gave absolutely no reaction to my presence, so I really don’t think he noticed me, or remembers noticing me.

Bullgrit

We finally got around to acting on selling my dad’s classic car. I was directed to a man, (a contemporary of my dad’s), who knew about the old Monte Carlo and had expressed interest in what we were going to do with it. I called him and we discussed the situation.

Turns out, he also bought my dad’s 1955 Chevy way back when my parents were newlyweds. My dad was proud of that ’55 Chevy, and his selling it has been a in-family story/joke/grudge forever. The story is that my mother “made” him sell it because she couldn’t drive it. He regretted parting with that vehicle ever since.

Anyway, the man wanted the ’85 Monte Carlo, too, but isn’t in a position to buy it right now. But he said the car is still in excellent condition, and he’d keep an ear open for anyone else who might be able to buy it. He appreciated our appreciation of the car.

When I took the car in for some service a couple weeks ago, (in preparation for driving it from my hometown to my current town), the garage owner told me about a neighbor who was a classic car guy who had a mint-condition ’88 Monte Carlo. The garage owner gave the man a call, and got him to come over and look at my dad’s car.

This man was also complimentary of the car’s condition. He was impressed and said it should be easy to sell. He gave us some pointers on marketing it: take it to classic car shows and contact classic car clubs. As obvious as that seems, we hadn’t thought of it.

After the servicing, I drove the Monte Carlo home to my house rather than back to our dad’s vacant house. I mentioned in the earlier post about how nervous I was to drive it around town. Fortunately, the anxiety wears off after a while driving it out on the open freeway. It’s smooth and comfortable and fun on a long-distance drive.

The old car has a totally different feel than modern cars — especially compared to my SUV. The seating is low to the ground; the vehicle feels low but wide and long. All the gauges are actual gauges with needles, not digital displays. (The gas gauge says, “Unleaded Fuel Only.”) The steering wheel is thin, with no airbag in the center.

The doors have a handle for you to actually manually roll the windows down.

I loved revisiting the experience of driving an ’80s car, but it also made me appreciate the technological advances we now have in our vehicles. I mean, just the ease of opening a passenger side window with the push of a button is a major feature after realizing without it you have to actually pull off the road so you can reach waaay over to the other side of the wide car and roll, roll, roll the handle.

Bullgrit

Saturday afternoon, me and my boys decided we wanted to go to one of the local parks for an hour or two. One thing we needed to do, though, before heading to the park, was stop by the home of one of Calfgrit10’s friends. The friend had left a couple toys at our house a few days ago, and we needed to return them.

So we loaded up in my truck and headed out. As we pulled into the friend’s driveway, I asked my boys if they’d like to invite the friend to come to the park with us. Calfgrit6 immediately said, “Yes,” but Calfgrit10 thought for a moment and said, “No, not today.” I have no idea why he said no.

Calgrit10 and I got out of the truck and walked up to the friend’s front door and knocked. When the friend and his mom answered, we talked for a few moments, and then the friend said, “You want to stay and play with me?”

“Yes!” Calfgrit10 said, enthusiastically.

The friend asked his mom, “Can Calfgrit10 stay and play?”

“Sure, if it’s alright with his dad,” she answered.

So I left CG10 there and went back to the truck. When I got in, I told Calfgrit6 that his brother was going to stay and play with the friend for a while. The look of disappointment that crossed his face broke my heart. He said, “I wanted to play with Calfgrit10 at the park.”

I’d made a big mistake. Damn. “I’ll play with you at the park,” I offered as consolation.

“Okay,” he said with a sign. “You’ll play tag with me?”

“Yes,” I assured him.

He still had a hang-dog look, so I tried to think of something we could do together that we might not normally get to do. Nothing like that came to mind immediately, but, not surprisingly to anyone who knows me, I did have the idea for us to go get ice cream together. “How about we go get some ice cream? Just you and me?” He said yes, but the idea didn’t seem to cheer him up much.

After picking up ice cream from Cold Stone, we went on to the park — the “dragon park,” which we named for this fixture:

At the park Calfgrit6 and I played tag all over the place. All around the three play areas, all up and in the play sets, up and down the ladders, poles, ramps, steps, and chains. How can a little guy half my height run me so ragged? He has to make three strides to my one, and he has to climb where I can just jump, but still, he could just keep going and going and going. I was worn slap out.

Granted, I got a bit competitive with my little opponent, jumping and climbing just short of performing parkour — I’m in a bit more athletic form compared to what I used to be. So, really, I wore myself out where I could have mostly coasted through the games of tag.

We played for over two hours, straight. Calfgrit6 screamed and laughed, I screamed and laughed, and I think he completely forgot that I had broken up his planned play time with his brother. Until we were walking out of the park back to my truck. We walked along the sidewalk, holding hands, and he said, “This was fun, daddy. Can we pick up Calfgrit10 and bring him here and play some more?”

I said, “How about we pick up Calfgrit10 and then go to CiCi’s for pizza?”

“Yeah,” he said, “that would be better. I’m getting hungry.”

Bullgrit

Continued from here.

It’s been right many years since I’ve seen The Sons of Katie Elder, but I could remember most of it. Strangely, though, I couldn’t remember how it ends. Turned out I did actually remember the ending, I just didn’t realize the John Wayne Western ending I remembered was for this movie. They’ve all kind of gotten a bit jumbled in my memory over the years.

Before the movie started, Calfgrit10 asked me about Westerns:

“Is that where they have the guns that they have to click to make them shoot?” he asked.

“Yes, they have to pull the hammer back before they pull the trigger to shoot it.” I explained. “It’s called single action. . .” and I explained how they work.

“And they use those rifles with the handle underneath?” he asked. He sort of mimed the action of a lever under a rifle.

“Yep, that’s called a lever action,” I explained, and I described what that action does mechanically.

He was remembering the time I took him out shooting guns with my father and brother, (and brogrit’s girlfriend).  He shot my dad’s single action revolver that day.

I inherited that .357 revolver, as well as a lever action .30-.30, when my dad passed. They’re up hidden in my office now. While Calfgrit10 and I were discussing the weapons of Western movies, I had the urge to go get the guns and show him. I wanted to say, “You know, I have a couple of those kinds of guns. Let me show you.” But, that’s too close to, “Hey, you wanna see my dad’s guns?” But those words are dreadfully dangerous. So I put the thought away. I could show him in a more appropriately reverent and calm moment some time later outside the excitement of movie time.

We watched the movie, and he seemed to enjoy it. He didn’t get up from the sofa with me, and he didn’t talk about other things during the scenes. That’s signs that he was engrossed in the experience, just like me.

Afterward, he said he liked the movie, and would be interested in seeing another Western with me some time. Great. I wish we could have watched the movie with my dad, and had three generations of us men loving a Western at the same time. That would have been cool. My dad would have really enjoyed that.

Bullgrit