I took the boys to one of the local parks. This park has two areas of climbing zones: one area has a small “footprint” but is tall and intricate — steps, ladders, tunnels, etc.; the other area is more spread out with slides and a bridge.

The Calvesgrit wanted me to play tag with them, and I obliged. It was a mild day, so we weren’t wearing coats. I tucked my cell phone — which usually sits in a holster on my belt — into my pants pocket, and I took off after the boys.

We were playing in the taller play set, which I like the best, and they would climb up into it, through the tunnels, up the ladders, and then down and around into the dungeon-like area underneath. I, instead of following the expected paths through the structure, climbed up on top of the tunnels, leaped up the ladders, and swung down on poles to reach the bottom. I absolutely love climbing around on that place.

When I’m in my zone, climbing, leaping, swinging, chasing, and catching the boys in that play set, I feel like Spider-Man — all I need are web shooters and a tall building. Calfgrit4 would try to escape me by crawling through a tunnel, but when he came out the other side, BAM!, I dropped down in front of him. Calfgrit8 would try to outrun me around the play set, but when he got to the other side, BAM!, I swung down in front of him.

I could only keep that activity up for 10 minutes at a time, and then I had to calm it down for a couple minutes. After that breather, I’d leap back into action. The boys, however, never needed a moment to rest. They can run wide open for an hour.

Whenever Cowgrit sees me doing this stuff (she’s not usually with us when I take the boys to the park), she worries that I’m going to hurt myself. And she’s right to worry. I mean, I may be crazy, but I’m not too dumb to know I’m over 40 years old, and one slip of the foot, one missed grab on a pole, and I could really hurt myself. But God, it’s so fun.

At one point, I was up on top of the play set, where there is a 8-foot-diameter platform. Calfgrit8 was “it,” coming up after me, and Calfgrit4 was down on the ground running around the circumference of the play set. I was slowly backing away from Calfgrit8, who had his hand out to tag me — I was going to let him tag me — and I took a bad shuffle down a step behind me.

My ankle twisted and I started falling backwards. Everything slowed down. I immediately knew I had hurt my ankle, badly, but my main concern was on where I’d fall. I dearly did not want to fall dangerously on my back, or hit my head on something — and there were steps, ladders, and rails all around me. I managed to catch a rail with my left hand, and this let me fall safer than just a blind collapse.

Once I was down, and I hadn’t hit my back or head, the pain in my ankle became terrible. It hurt like crazy. I hadn’t heard a snap or pop, so I thought I might not have broken it, but it had twisted pretty bad. Calfgrit8 realized I was hurt and he came to me with concern.

“Are you alright, Dad?” he asked. He sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee.

“Ow, ow, ow,” I answered. “I hurt my ankle real bad. I need a time out.”

“OK,” he said, and the look of fear slowly left his face. “But just for the game,” he added, “I tagged you before you called time.”

Despite the pain, I had to chuckle. “Noted. Now please go find Calfgrit4 and sit or play with him for a minute while I get right.”

My oldest son left me and climbed down from our top level. He found his little brother and they sat on a bench watching me struggle to get up off my back and down from the play set.

Damn but my ankle hurt from that twist. Luckily it was my left foot, so I would be able to drive the van. “Crap, crap, crap,” I said under my breath. Man, it hurt. I thought if it wasn’t broken, it sure was a waste of pain.

I managed to get down from the play set and told my boys I’d be OK. I just needed to rest my foot for a while. I sent them back to the play set to play without me. I propped my foot up on the bench and let it rest. Surprisingly, the pain subsided fairly quickly. Within 10 minutes I could walk on it, with a limp.

I followed the boys to the other part of the park and walked around for another 5 minutes to work out the injury. Soon I was chasing the boys again — but just chasing them on level ground, not jumping around on tunnels and ladders and rails.

Half an hour later, when we were all ready to leave the park to go eat dinner, we all raced back to the van in the parking lot. I was very happily surprised that my ankle was all better. I’m not Spider-Man, I thought, I’m freakin’ Wolverine! Healing factor FTW!

But the next day, my left thumb was hurting. That was the hand I had used to catch myself while falling on the play set, so I figure I must have caught wrong or something. But while my ankle never again bothered me, that thumb ached for three days after the park outing. Somebody tell me how in the world that happens.

Bullgrit

A while after the final flight of my first flying model airplane, we got a second, and completely different model airplane. The difference in the planes matched the difference in the decades — the first plane was of the 70s, and the second plane was of the 80s.

The second plane was a stunt plane, and it looked the part. It had a wider plastic body, plastic wings underneath, and a gas-powered engine (like a small lawn trimmer). But the most notable difference was how its flight was controlled.

From the tip of its starboard/right wing came two strings that attached to a hand piece. You were to set the plane on the ground, start the engine, and then step back and let the plane take off at the end of the string. You then held the hand piece and controlled the plane’s climb and dive as it flew around you.

But that was the problem: the plane flew around you in a circle. My dad and I both tried controlling this thing a few times, but the circling, circling, circling, circling made us dizzy. The plane was so fast that we couldn’t really put any thought into trying maneuvers or stunts. And after maybe 60 seconds of circling flight, the plane crashed into the ground.

This plane was a sturdier specimen compared to the older, first plane, so it better took the crashes — I don’t remember any damage to this second plane resulting from the poor piloting.

But we could take the dizzying circles so much before giving up on this model airplane. The only thing really cool and fun about this second plane was the great divots it made in the ground when it crashed propeller first. The speedy impact and the strong engine made for big holes and churned up grass and dirt. And the sound of BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-THUMP! was awesome.

And so ended our attempt at fun with that second plane. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-THUMP!

Bullgrit

When I was a young boy (of single-digit age), I had an interest in airplanes. In support of this interest, my dad bought me a flying model airplane.

The plane was a red, white, and blue Cessna-style, single-engine, wing-on-top flyer – blue plastic fuselage, white styrofoam wings, and red trim work. Its wingspan was less than three feet and its speed was only barely faster than I could run underneath it, but it was a fantastic machine.

The propeller was battery powered, and its flight pattern was controlled by small disks you installed under the fuselage. As the plane flew, the inserted disk turned and would move the rudder in the chosen pattern. There were several of these disks to choose from, each supposedly giving a different flight path, but we only ever saw two distinct patterns in actual use: fly into building, and fly into road.

We’d take the plane to one of the local public parks – the only park with a wide open field – and let the plane go. My dad tended the motor, made sure all flight controls were working, and we put in the flight disk together. Then we’d turn it on, and my dad would launch it with a smooth over-handed toss.

My brother and I would run around the park field, under the plane, chasing its flight path. It soared about 10-20 feet above the ground – high enough to look like a real plane (to 5-9 year olds) and low enough to look like we could almost reach up and touch it. The plane would fly for a couple of minutes, making turns as the attached disk dictated, and then, inevitably, the flight would end with the plane flying smack into the side of the big park building. It would crash into the brick wall and then fall to crash into the ground at the bottom of the wall.

Every time it did this, it sounded and looked like it would be the end of its flying days – the fuselage would crack, the wings would pop off the top, and the prop would bend. But my dad managed to put it all back together, and he kept it running for a long time.

If the plane didn’t fly into the building, it would fly out of the park and land in the main street – four lanes plus a center turning lane. Fortunately, it was a small town, and we weren’t flying during rush hour, so the road wasn’t all that busy. We would watch for cars and then either I or Dad would run out, pick up the errant plane, and run back into the park. Surprisingly, I don’t think the plane was ever run over.

All the times we flew that plane, I don’t remember it landing safely in the field a single time. I remember many building collisions, a few street landings, and a couple times it came down in the tennis courts or among the playground equipment. But I didn’t consider these flight endings anything but totally exciting. Landing safely in the field would have been boring – we got daredevil crashes.

That plane lasted a surprisingly long time considering all its calamitous flight paths. Those experiences sit in a hallowed shelf of my memory. Thinking back on this, now, I’d love to get something like it for my boys to see and play with today. If you know anything about these kinds of planes, let me know. I’m going to look them up and see what’s being sold nowadays.

But, that plane did eventually stop working. After a little while without a flying model, my dad bought another, different style plane. To be continued.

Bullgrit

Here are some really cool things that happened 40 years ago this year:

Led Zepplin 1 is released

Boeing 747 in flight

Apollo 11 to the moon

First ATM installed

Monty Python’s Flying Circus aired on UK television

First message sent over ARPANET

Sesame Street premieres

* * *

And on a completely unrelated note:

Happy birthday, Cowgrit!

Love,
Bullgrit