Silence Speaks Volumes

It has hit that time of the year when the temperature in the evening is perfect. It is beautiful outside. There's a gentle breeze and for some reason, I actually feel like stepping outside of my house. Last night was one of those nights.

I noticed it when I got home and just felt drawn to go out and enjoy it. I ran into the house, changed my clothes and grabbed a good book. I sat in my front yard, planning to enjoy the weather and get lost in a story.

About the time I got settled, one of the neighbor kids yelled a greeting my way. I gave a quick acknowledging wave, but carefully avoided making eye contact or answering back for fear of engaging them in a conversation. To my surprise, they left me alone. The girl had a friend over and they were busy playing with Barbies while lying on the roof of another neighbor's car. The boy was playing in his sandbox.

"Awesome!", I thought. "They're distracted."

Excited at the idea that I might actually get to enjoy this weather and my book, I settled in. I had read about a page, when the girls had a disagreement which required screaming for some reason.

Girl A: That is not true. You're so stupid!
Girl B: Nu-uh! My gramma told me. Cats have 12 lives! That why they live so long.
Girl A: My cat got hit by a car last week and it was just dead!
Girl B: Well, he must have used up the other lives before then.
Girl A: Not HE!!! She was a girl!
Girl B: She must have been a stupid girl for playing in the road!

I almost corrected their mistake about cats and explained that all cats were stupid, but decided against it. They would have just brought the conversation to me and started complaining about each other and wanting me to fix it. I was just about to give up and retreat back to the house when one of them picked up a brick and chased the other down the street to hit her with it. Finally, some peace.

A few minutes later, the boy started wailing from the sandbox. As he cried, he picked up the toy dump truck and threw it against the swing set. Then, he picked it up and did it again. I surrendered my plan and withdrew back to the serenity of my house.

Luckily, I do not have small children any longer, so my house is fairly quiet. However, it hadn't always been that way. I remember once snapping at Christian because his laughing was beginning to grate on my nerves. Unfortunately, he was also old enough to talk.

"Excuse me, Dad. Is my being happy irritating you?" Imagine this being said with the dripping sarcasm of a snotty punk.

"I don't give a crap if you're happy, just do it silently. The same goes for when you sad, angry or bleeding."

Before I get angry comments from parents who "love" their kids and think that I should be ashamed, please note that the above dialogue was a joke. He didn't really have to be silent if he was bleeding. In fact, if he got blood on the carpet or the furniture and didn't say something, he lost his "time-outside-of-the-cellar" privileges.

Sometimes a parent just wants quiet. This is part of the reason why young kids can get into such mischief. When people hear stories of crazy things kids have done, they often ask, "Where were the parents?" The honest truth of the matter is, they were usually right in the next room, but since the kids weren't making any noise, they were just enjoying the temporary bliss. This happened once when I was very young.

My brothers and I were at home alone with our father one evening. I was seven years old. Kyle was four and Trevor was two. After Dad had threatened pleaded with us a few dozen times to quietly play without fighting, we found our way to the basement. It was far enough away, that we didn't have to be as careful about our noise.

After a considerable amount of time, we started finding new things to do and soon discovered how much room there was inside the dryer. One of us would crawl in and lean to one side to get it to turn. We fought over whose turn it was and kept pushing each other out. At one point, we got Trevor in there and we turned the barrel with our hands. We had a great time.

I knew this glorious machine was capable of turning itself, but every time I pushed the button that I had seen my mom pushed to make it work, nothing happened. At the time, I didn't know about the different settings and dials. Plus, the door would have to be shut for it to activate.

Once Kyle and I got bored with not being able to turn the dryer on so Trevor could go for a ride, we decided to just shut him in. Kyle held the door shut and I found a board to prop between one of the basement support beams and the handle of the dryer door. I have no idea why we did this, but I distinctly remember doing it.

Once we were certain he would not be able to get out, Kyle and I headed back up the stairs only to be met by our father at the top.

"Where's your brother?"

(shrugs) "I dunno."

Trevor's shrieks for help drowned out our pleas of false ignorance and he was soon rescued by Dad. That was the end of our night of fun.

The next morning, as Dad finished recalling the events of the previous evening to our mother over the breakfast table, she only had one comment as she glared at us.

"I hoped you spanked their butts."

"Yup. All three of them."

"What?!? You spanked the baby too? Why?"

"For being dumb enough to crawl in there."