Ice Cream Man
The Boy(s) hated—No—H*A*T*E*D PACE. Not the picante sauce. Their after school program at school. They aren't big fans of school either, so having to stay late and do forced homework and other bullshit work designed more to keep them busy than to stretch their minds made them extremely bitter.
Half way through the year we decided to let them start walking home versus go to PACE. My Lovely Bride worked at the school which is literally a block from our house, so we figured the getting home part wouldn't be that tough. Still, when people learned that we were letting them walk and then be home alone for a few hours in the afternoon we got a few should I call CPS type of looks. Mind you they are 9 and 7. I was walking to my Mom's place of work which was double the distance as their walk when I was six. By myself. These PC, American Idiot (Welcome to a new kind of tension, All across the alien nation, Where everything isn't meant to be okay) times. Fuck me.
But I digress.
Our concern wasn't so much them walking and being home alone. It was that they'd do their homework and not beat the shit out of each other. Which were two of our main rules. Get along, get your homework done or back to PACE. The other rule was that they always had to call me when they arrived home.
So each day, usually between 3:15 and 3:20 I'd get a call from Boy #2 who somehow got the job of being their spokesperson.
Boy #2 has a unique voice. Whiskey and cigarettes come to mind, not that he does either, my point is that he has a very rough and distinct voice. He is also a no bullshit phone talker. Typical calls would go like this: RING...I can see that it's them on my Robot Phone but still answer with a simple Hello to have them practice their phone skills.
"Dad. It's me. Wyatt."
"Hi Wy..." The Boy would cut me off.
"We're home. Ruby (our dog) is good. It was an ok day. Can I have a soda?"
After he got done with his all at once check in rap I would ask him about homework and inquire about the Elder Boy before saying he could in fact have a soda (I'm amazed that he has yet to realize he could get a soda without asking and I'd never be the wiser.)
His close is always the same.
"Ok. I love you. Bye."
His afternoon check ins became quite the afternoon laughfest for my co-workers who could hear my side of the conversation and only imagine what he was saying based on what I was saying when we experienced a few typical wheels off Team Tinsley moments.
By far the greatest though happened toward the end of the year, after they were seasoned latch key kids.
I was sitting at work when the phone rang and saw that it was the Boy(s). Knowing it would be Boy #2 and them having done this routine for so long I no longer felt they needed phone skills so I answered, "Hello Wyatt."
"Dad. It's me. Wyatt. We're home. Ruby is good. It was an ok day. Can I have a soda?"
I was quizzing the Boy about what he had to do homework wise when I heard the Elder Boy in what had to be the back half of our house scream.
"What was that?" I asked.
The Younger Boy must have put the phone down because I heard him say, "Ethan!?" in a far away way.
"Wyatt. What was that?" I asked again. "Is everything OK?"
The Elder Boy screamed again, followed by what sounded like him running down the hall into the kitchen where I imagined Wyatt had placed the call.
I could hear a muffled exchange between the two and then they both screamed.
"WYATT! What is going on? Is everything OK?" I asked again. Wondering if I should hang up and call My Lovely Bride who is literally 2 minutes away or 911. Maybe both.
The Younger Boy dropped the phone on the floor at that point. Then they both screamed and were running around. Or so it sounded from my end.
"WYATT!" I shouted in vain.
Mind you my co-workers are hearing all of this.
"WYATT!"
"WHAT IS GOING ON?"
One of them, or so it sounded, kicked the phone across our hard tile floor, which is all I could hear, along with their screams and running around.
"Fuck me!" I said to myself (and I guess my co-workers.)
"WYATT. PICK UP THE PHONE. WHAT IS GOING ON?"
Meanwhile back at the ranch, what was going on was a lot of screaming and loud running around.
A long 30 to 60 seconds later the Younger Boy abruptly picked up the phone and in a very breathless, super excited voice said,
"Dad. It's me. Wyatt."
"Wy what is going on?"
"Ice Cream Man!"
The Elder Boy screamed in the background.
"Ice Cream Man...?" I asked.
Ethan screamed again, and then, or so it sounded, loudly ran back down the hall screaming the entire way.
"Oh. The Ice Cream Man." I said finally figuring out what was happening. With that knowledge came the realization that they weren't simply screaming, they were screaming / yelling / chanting, ICE CREAM MAN, ICE CREAM MAN, over and over, as they ran around the house trying to find money to get some ice cream before the truck had passed our house.
"ICE CREAM MAN!!!" I heard the Elder Boy scream as he (or so it sounded) ran down the hall to what had to be the front door. That's when I heard the distinctive ice cream man truck song.
"Wyatt."
"Wyatt."
"WYATT."
I was about to say my fourth Wyatt when the Boy grabbed the phone and quickly said,
"Ok. I love you. Bye."
Until I BLOG again...All my flavors are guaranteed...to satis-uh-fy.
Half way through the year we decided to let them start walking home versus go to PACE. My Lovely Bride worked at the school which is literally a block from our house, so we figured the getting home part wouldn't be that tough. Still, when people learned that we were letting them walk and then be home alone for a few hours in the afternoon we got a few should I call CPS type of looks. Mind you they are 9 and 7. I was walking to my Mom's place of work which was double the distance as their walk when I was six. By myself. These PC, American Idiot (Welcome to a new kind of tension, All across the alien nation, Where everything isn't meant to be okay) times. Fuck me.
But I digress.
Our concern wasn't so much them walking and being home alone. It was that they'd do their homework and not beat the shit out of each other. Which were two of our main rules. Get along, get your homework done or back to PACE. The other rule was that they always had to call me when they arrived home.
So each day, usually between 3:15 and 3:20 I'd get a call from Boy #2 who somehow got the job of being their spokesperson.
Boy #2 has a unique voice. Whiskey and cigarettes come to mind, not that he does either, my point is that he has a very rough and distinct voice. He is also a no bullshit phone talker. Typical calls would go like this: RING...I can see that it's them on my Robot Phone but still answer with a simple Hello to have them practice their phone skills.
"Dad. It's me. Wyatt."
"Hi Wy..." The Boy would cut me off.
"We're home. Ruby (our dog) is good. It was an ok day. Can I have a soda?"
After he got done with his all at once check in rap I would ask him about homework and inquire about the Elder Boy before saying he could in fact have a soda (I'm amazed that he has yet to realize he could get a soda without asking and I'd never be the wiser.)
His close is always the same.
"Ok. I love you. Bye."
His afternoon check ins became quite the afternoon laughfest for my co-workers who could hear my side of the conversation and only imagine what he was saying based on what I was saying when we experienced a few typical wheels off Team Tinsley moments.
By far the greatest though happened toward the end of the year, after they were seasoned latch key kids.
I was sitting at work when the phone rang and saw that it was the Boy(s). Knowing it would be Boy #2 and them having done this routine for so long I no longer felt they needed phone skills so I answered, "Hello Wyatt."
"Dad. It's me. Wyatt. We're home. Ruby is good. It was an ok day. Can I have a soda?"
I was quizzing the Boy about what he had to do homework wise when I heard the Elder Boy in what had to be the back half of our house scream.
"What was that?" I asked.
The Younger Boy must have put the phone down because I heard him say, "Ethan!?" in a far away way.
"Wyatt. What was that?" I asked again. "Is everything OK?"
The Elder Boy screamed again, followed by what sounded like him running down the hall into the kitchen where I imagined Wyatt had placed the call.
I could hear a muffled exchange between the two and then they both screamed.
"WYATT! What is going on? Is everything OK?" I asked again. Wondering if I should hang up and call My Lovely Bride who is literally 2 minutes away or 911. Maybe both.
The Younger Boy dropped the phone on the floor at that point. Then they both screamed and were running around. Or so it sounded from my end.
"WYATT!" I shouted in vain.
Mind you my co-workers are hearing all of this.
"WYATT!"
"WHAT IS GOING ON?"
One of them, or so it sounded, kicked the phone across our hard tile floor, which is all I could hear, along with their screams and running around.
"Fuck me!" I said to myself (and I guess my co-workers.)
"WYATT. PICK UP THE PHONE. WHAT IS GOING ON?"
Meanwhile back at the ranch, what was going on was a lot of screaming and loud running around.
A long 30 to 60 seconds later the Younger Boy abruptly picked up the phone and in a very breathless, super excited voice said,
"Dad. It's me. Wyatt."
"Wy what is going on?"
"Ice Cream Man!"
The Elder Boy screamed in the background.
"Ice Cream Man...?" I asked.
Ethan screamed again, and then, or so it sounded, loudly ran back down the hall screaming the entire way.
"Oh. The Ice Cream Man." I said finally figuring out what was happening. With that knowledge came the realization that they weren't simply screaming, they were screaming / yelling / chanting, ICE CREAM MAN, ICE CREAM MAN, over and over, as they ran around the house trying to find money to get some ice cream before the truck had passed our house.
"ICE CREAM MAN!!!" I heard the Elder Boy scream as he (or so it sounded) ran down the hall to what had to be the front door. That's when I heard the distinctive ice cream man truck song.
"Wyatt."
"Wyatt."
"WYATT."
I was about to say my fourth Wyatt when the Boy grabbed the phone and quickly said,
"Ok. I love you. Bye."
Until I BLOG again...All my flavors are guaranteed...to satis-uh-fy.
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