As best as I figure, tonight was going to be G's last evening at the local park he calls Thunderdome, as residents of the neighborhood.

The neighbors along the four blocks or so to the park have become accustomed to his tearing down the sidewalk on his skuut bike with me next to or right behind him on my own bike. The one guy around the corner especially, who recently told us that riding bikes on the sidewalk was illegal. What keeps me entertained about him is that every day that we ride by his house, Gavin asks, "Is the cranky guy happy yet?"

Cranky guy sits in his living room next to an open window reading the paper every evening. I answer, "We can only hope so son."

So tonight I had visions of G riding through the park, down the grassy hill, circling around giant redwood trees, not understanding the magnitude of this last after dinner excursion. I imagined it a summary of all the riding and playing we have done there over the last 3 years.

Instead, he wanted to walk to the park...wait for it...with Abeeee in her stroller.






I thought A threw that stupid stroller away months ago. At the very least in the last few days while packing. I admit I am the one who caved and bought it for him after he earned a trip to the toy aisle at Fred Meyers for not peeing his pants or eating all his dinner or something.

But alas, my lovely wife, the mother of this fine child, had not thrown it away. Leaving me to walk to the park with my son, his doll and her pink stroller.

Cranky guy was happy this evening.

The dog walkers, other families making their way to the park and most everyone driving by, all smiled. Some pointed. Some shared how great they felt it was to let a child express him/herself.


I was impressed by G, not for wanting to embrace his feminine side, but for being able to launch Abeeeeeee down every slope we came across. He pushed evenly never tipping her heavy either left or right. She did have a few jettison moments with curbs though.

He was careful to look for cars before letting her "cross the street by herself."


Once at the park, G found a cool stick, ditched Abeeeeee and ran around till he was dripping with sweat and finally broke the stick. I sat on a bench consoling her while talking with another dad whose daughter regularly wears a super hero suit consisting of purple snow boots, butterfly wings and a cat mask made from a paper plate.

Abeeeee thought the stick breaking was pretty awesome and that G had it coming after dropping her like a homely prom date once the slow dances started. We had to discuss her attitude before it got the better of her. Bitterness is ugliness.

Then G and Super Girl found a Hot Wheel car under a pile of bark dust and Abeeeeeeee was indignant. So much so that when it came time to walk home, Abeeeeeee wanted nothing to do with Gavin.

It's one thing to walk to the park with your son while he pushes a pink stroller with his 'daughter' in it. It's totally different to carry that stroller yourself while your 4-year-old gets to cradle a rad, lime green Ford Mustang Hot Wheel car.

Believe it or not, as a red blooded man, there is a right way to carry a toy stroller and a doll. Unlike carrying your wife's purse which is just plain wrong. First, is the fundamental chin up, chest out. Good posture is the foundation of confidence.

Next is to palm the stroller like a basketball. Squeezing the flimsy pink plastic handles together with just enough force that they may break, but not until your close enough to home that you don't have to carry a broken girl toy with your son for a distance further than you could throw the stupid thing. Despite the grip, the girl toy should hang casually at your side like how the old timers carried their lunch pale into the factory every day.

Lastly, is to acknowledge passers by with a subtle sternness. A look that says, "Yeah, I know that you see me carrying a girly toy and walking with my son, but wouldn't it suck if you got beat up with this stupid, pink, pre-school play thing?"

It worked. As Gavin stumbled over the uneven sidewalk, not watching where he was going, while analyzing the car in his dirty, sweaty, little hands, the same dog walkers and new parents who walked in a haze with their precious babies asleep in real strollers, looked at us again but instead of smiling that cheesy, "oh how cute," smile, gave me the nod that men give men out of a silent respect.

Then we got home and each had an Otter Pop while G told me knock knock jokes that all ended with Abeeeee farting.

A sorted through her purse today and found a forgotten gift card.

"Sweet!" you might say.

Or "Big deal."

But here's the thing: 'We,' have history of saving gift-cards. Not really hoarding; hoarding is too strong a word for this. And hoarding gift-cards doesn't have the same dramatic effect on TV as say, hoarding garbage does. If she were to buy loads of crap with gift cards based on late night infomercials and then never throw any of it away, and the Fire Marshall couldn't find any of my dozen or so bikes from underneath her hoarding ways, then yeah, that would be a problem that could make for good TV. But this, this is not hoarding.

Yet there is a strong historical trend of hanging onto gift-cards or gift certificates well past their expiratition date while all along being too gun-shy to pull the trigger because next time/month/year there might be a better deal/sale/need where that twenty-bucks might make the difference of us eating or not. Then the odd day comes to clean out the purse and low and behold; a stack of free movie passes, coffee, dinner or $$ off at select stores, all as valuable as East German currency.

Anyway, she found a gift card today from like 3 years ago and decided to test it to see if it worked. She logged onto her favorite on-line retailer and bought earrings.

"Good for you," I said.

I would have done the same thing. Except I don't carry a purse or let any amount of money in any form last for more than about 12 hours in my possesion. Except for the one time I carried a single $1.00 bill for a month. It was when I stumbled across another $1.00 bill on the sidewalk that I remembered I had the first one and immediately bought a cup of coffee.

At anyrate, A buys the earrings and the total, including shipping is more than the value of the card. Except that, and here's where the story really gets good, the charge goes through. The card worked at 101.4% of it's original value 3 years ago. Gift cards as I am aware are not an investment. Worse case, they lose a percentage value over time until they are worth nothing (at which point she tries to use them). Best case, they are worth what say they are worth.

So now, she's really amped. She also feels a wave of guilt. As if she just kicked The Man in the crotch. She becomes distraught. Then excited again. Then a fire truck drives by 6 blocks away and she thinks its the cops coming to arrest her. Then I walk in and she spills her guts of the whole thing. Knowing that telling the truth should set her free she remains torn, frought with emotion after her confession and is now additionally processing her anger at me for laughing at her.

"The true cost of these earrings," she says, pointing her finger of justice at me,"No, the punishment... no, both the cost and the punishment, is my conscience. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to wear them!"