I’m sitting in the Lego Room, formally known as the eighteen year-old’s bedroom until he decided to run away and move in with his father. Now he sleeps on a couch in the middle of his living room.
I’m down here watching football on a thirteen-inch screen. That’s because the ten year-old and two of his weird little friends are upstairs playing Guitar Hero.
He was only supposed to have the icky kid from the other side of the bushes over this afternoon but then the doorbell rang.
It was the girl from down the street. She’s a little more advanced than most of the kids their class. She lives between her mother, father, and grandmother’s houses during the week. Her grandmother’s house is right around the corner from us and where she can usually be found.
Here’s an example of a dialog between her and the boy that I overheard a few months ago:
The Boy: “Doesn’t your brother want a guitar, and Wii for his birthday?”
Her: He wants the guitar but he doesn’t smoke pot anymore.
Uh… yeah… see what I mean.
So she shows up at the door asking for a place to hang out for a little while. It seems as though Grandma is having a problem with depression and is in some sort of pain.
The girl is telling us that Grandma is having a meltdown and wants her to call her mother’s boyfriend so that he can bring her a gun so she can shoot herself to take away the pain.
I’m sure it’s just a case of an old lady needing her space for a little while. I’m thinking the boyfriend might ask a few questions before handing over his gun to a gram gone loco.
I’m hearing that Grandma has come out of her funk and has just picked the girl up. I’m sure everything is back to normal.
I’m sure we all have similar stories from our own childhood.
The Lego room is painted in a light-green that looked a lot better on the swatch at Home Depot than it does on the walls.
It’s called the Lego room because it’s filled with wonderful Lego creations built by the ten year-old. The room also has a futon and that little tiny TV that I’m watching now.
I pulled out some of my old Giants and Yankees posters and pennants in an effort to cover the ugly light-green walls.
I’m noticing now that the room has another very annoying quality to it. The living room is directly above it and I can hear the kids up there jumping around. The floors squeak like a freaking mouse in heat.
So all I can hear is squeak-squeak-bang-bang-boom!
I run up there like a maniac yelling that it feels like the freaking ceiling is going to crash down on me.
They were playing Wii fishing… FISHING! How much running and jumping is involved in fishing?
I scream and yell some more until I think my face is red enough for them to know that I am serious. I also yell, “I’M SERIOUS… STOP JUMPING!”
It’s twenty minutes later and they are still jumping… running now, I think.
I’M TWO MINUTES AWAY FROM MAKING A FOOL OUT OF MYSELF AGAIN.