Degrees of Parenting

That last day of July was so hot, even How hot was it? jokes had long since worn out their welcome. When Jack’s wife, Jess, begged for a much-needed weekend respite from their 5-year-old twin boys, with plenty of notice, Jack wholeheartedly agreed. A summer weekend of quality time alone with his sons would be a memorable bonding experience.

“C’mon, Jess, how hard can it be?” Jack had said.

“This, coming from a man who believes shoving quarters up his nose constitutes entertainment. Good luck.” Jess had laughed and before he knew it, she was gone.

2am –Saturday - 88 degrees

The twins went to bed without issue Friday evening, one bedtime-story and they were asleep. Jack readjusted the boys’ window-fan several times throughout the sweltering night; even the moon felt as if it radiated heat. The fan didn’t cool, just circulated hot air, but its steady whirring noise was enough for Jack and his buddy, Charlie, who was visiting from a block away, to watch playoffs and enjoy a couple of ice-cold beers without waking the twins. It was well past midnight when Charlie finally said his farewells.

While standing in the foyer, Felix, one of the twins, appeared.

“I want mommy.” Felix whimpered.

Jack lifted him into his arms. As soon as Felix registered Charlie’s presence, he immediately stopped whining.

“Unca Chawie!” Felix displayed a toothless grin.

Jack smiled at Felix’ pronunciation of Charlie's name. It wasn’t until Jack looked up, when he saw a strange look on Charlie’s face.

“What is that?” Charlie pointed to Felix’s exposed right leg.

Jack immediately flipped on the bright entryway light. Felix’s balmy skin had a line of perfectly round discolored circles that ran up the length of his entire outer leg. “What the fu...?” Jack ran his fingers along them, then he rubbed a bit harder.

Felix groused. “Ow, Daddy.”

“You’re the EMT, Charlie, what are these?” Jack’s heart began to gallop.

“Listen, I’m no doctor - could be bruises or something more serious - a blood dyscrasia, honestly, dude, I’ve never seen anything like that under the skin, they’re alien-like.”

“I’m not an awien Unca Chawie. Yaw siwwy.”

“Listen, if it were my kid, I’d take him to the ER. Better to be safe than sorry. I’ll hang with Max till you get back. No worries, he’s sleeping. Got any porn channels?” 

Jack was out the door.

Inside the ER, he yelled. “I think my son has leukemia! He needs a doctor, if it’s cancer, it’s growing every single second we stand here. Please!” Jack sobbed.

5am – Saturday – 90 degrees

Jack arrived home wiped-out. Felix was wide-awake from his ER excursion. Charlie, on the other hand, was sound asleep on the couch, while Max intently watched Pink Floyds’, The Wall. Jack wondered, if in twenty years, Max would be discussing this exact night, on a talk-show, from his prison cell.

“They washed off, you dumb-ass!” Jack told Charlie, once his friend was fully upright. “They were chemical coin imprints, apparently, he was sweating and sleeping on coins that aligned up his leg. Cancer that washes off, thanks for the loss of those 20 years of my life, not to mention total humiliation. I’ll never set foot in that hospital again.” 

Charlie stood, stretched, then yawned. “Hey, I knew it was nothing serious, bro.”

“Get out!” Jack followed Charlie to the door.

They fist-bumped and Charlie was gone. But not before making a few random coin jokes: penny for your thoughts, dime a dozen. As Jack shut the front door, he heard the faint, melodic opening line from a Billy Joel song, “Don’t go changing…”

Exhausted beyond repair, Jack needed sleep. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen with both boys wide awake. When Max started pestering Jack for an explanation as to why the TV was singing, teachers leave those kids alone, Jack was forced to bribe.

“Yes, you can sleep in your bathing suits, and shirtless just like the lifeguards, for the pool later.”

“Yes, the pool can count as your bath.”

“Yes, I will get your cereal ready on the table now so you can do breakfast like big boys, while daddy sleeps-in.”

“Yes, you can pour your own milk from the small container in the fridge.”

Jack admitted to a rough start but at that moment, breakfast table set, boys ready for the pool, and already in their coinless bunkbeds, he felt accomplished. He was convinced this was why Jess never slept-in; she’d been babying them; she’d never tried this level of independence. What could go wrong?

9am – Saturday -95 degrees

Jack was not awakened by the sun, like God’s flashlight streaming through his bedroom, but by Max, charging in, screaming with laughter, sporting a toilet plunger suctioned to his back.

The frequency and severity of plumbing problems experienced living with two young boys, had forced Jack years ago to invest in what is known as an industrial plunger, marine-grade polymer, one solid unit with a flexible suction cup the size of Yankee Stadium.

When Jack realized he wasn’t dreaming, he insisted Max remove it immediately. In Jack's periphery, he noticed Felix in the doorway. In a sheepish voice, Felix said, “It won’t come off.”

Felix was right, that thing was so secured to Max’ back, the surrounding skin took on the hue of a Jersey tomato. Mistakenly, Jack reminded Max where the plunger had been, and Max began to panic. But that suction would not un-suck. Well, that was money well spent, Jack thought.

Warning himself to keep his wits about him or end up on News at 11, he knew phoning for help was out of the question. Who would Jack call, a plumber, or worse, Charlie? Jack was on his own this time.

How does one get a screaming combative 5-year-old, unnoticed and safely into a car-seat when there is a 3-foot pole sticking from his back? Only one way of transport- face down.

“Owww, the seat is too hot, Daddy- it’s burning me!” Max awkwardly tried to back out. Wasn't happening.

Jack noticed a grin on Felix’ face. “Nothing funny about this Felix, it’s a good thing you didn’t plunge his face, he’d be dead by now!” Jack needed to calm down. They were making a scene.

Once Max was extricated from the backseat, Jack started the car, turned the AC to full blast, certainly better than their home window-fans. Maybe, once this was over, they could live in their car for the rest of the summer. Jack knew he was losing his grip on reality. Before getting a blanket from the trunk to lay on the hot seat, Jack noticed an elderly, obviously nosy neighbor, sweeping his walkway.

Sweeping what? The grass was like tobacco-row, no rain for more than a month. No breezes blowing anything, anywhere. But Jack knew the neighbor’s investigation was inevitable, broom decoy or not. The man, Hal, as he introduced himself, had apparently been their neighbor for over 6 years, gestured to Jack to give him a minute by holding up an arthritic index-finger.

The neighbor returned rather quickly, razor blade and Vaseline in tow. Miraculously, within seconds the plunger’s grip released, and Max was set free as though nothing had happened. That, however, did not abate the hickey the size of a stop-sign on Max’ back and getting worse by the second.

“You may want to get that checked out. Looks almost like a burn, kid’s back’s the size of a postage stamp. I’d take him to the hospital, internal bleeding, never know.” Hal advised. Once this heatwave was over, Jack sincerely needed to better get to know his neighbors. Or move. Most likely, the latter.

So, off they went to the ER, again. Had they played jousting plumbers on a weekday, Jack could've called the pediatrician, but that wasn’t happening on a summer Saturday. As Jack pulled from his driveway, he saw wise, old Hal waving in the rearview, apparently concerned Jack wasn't capable of backing-out without causing further human carnage.

“What’s up, doc?” Jack joked to the very same doctor from the coin incident, who’d kindly said in the wee hours of the morning that, boys will be boys.

The back required just a bit of salve. Then, the doctor added in his elegant Middle Eastern accent, “A plunger is not a toy, it can cause harm, carry diseases, like hepatitis, good sir, so please, do not encourage this sort of play with your children.”

Shut up, doc.

Noon - Saturday - 104 degrees

Home by noon, Jack and the boys headed to the local pool. After applying enough sunscreen for them to resemble mimes, floaties on arms, lifeguards on stands, and of course, they had the requisite swimming lessons, they were ready. This time, Jack refused to think what could possibly go wrong? Then, realized he did with that very thought.

Finally, situated at the pool, the boys made friends with a group of kids their age splashing in the low-end, less than 3 feet from the lifeguard. Jack brought his own lounger so he could situate himself where he chose, relax and still have clear view of his twins. The sense of bliss he felt for those four minutes of lounging was incredible.

Then, a lifeguard hollered, “Hey whose kid is this?” Without even looking up, Jack knew it was one of his boys.

Max had pooped in the pool. The pool evacuated quicker than a lightning strike. Jack fetched Max, who justified the decision because he was having too much fun and didn’t know poop floated. Jack wrapped him in a towel on his lounger, instructing him not to budge, then ran to retrieve Felix, the only one left in the pool.

“Felix, get out of the water or…” Jack must have yelled that statement ten times and every time he got to the “…or you’ll be in serious trouble…,” part, which meant anything ranging from no dessert to military school for preschoolers, Felix bobbed back under the water, expelling bubbles Jack knew was Felix' mocking laughter.

Jack tried a different approach, “Your brother pooped the pool, it’s poo! You must get…”

On the up-bob “So, he poops in the bath all the time. Wheeee!” Back under, Felix went.

Jack had no choice. He waded into the e-coli and dragged Felix out. Felix was much lighter in the water than on solid ground. Once poolside, Felix wriggled away from Jack’s grip and fell to the pavement. Before Jack could get angry, he saw blood. Felix split his chin open, stitches required.

Several strangers offered to drive them to the ER, but Jack assured them he knew the way. Besides, Jack couldn’t risk another person’s safety being anywhere near his family of horrors. This was like the medical version of Groundhogs Day, combined with the reality of Caddy Shack. Thank you, Mr. Murray, Jack thought.

4pm – Saturday -100 degrees

Five stitches later, they were back home having completed the ER trifecta. Felix handled the whole ordeal brilliantly. For Jack, there wasn’t enough deodorant on earth that could make the sweaty, stress-smell go away.

While Jack lay motionless on the den couch, practicing levitation on the piles of detritus surrounding him, a fan whirring directly in his face, Jack knew he needed to clean before Jess got home. Jess better be enjoying herself, he mused, because he never loved her more and she was never going anywhere else ever again.

Jack’s powers of concentration were suddenly, broken, when Max barged through the back door. In one hand, he toted a large stick, resembling a sword, and a dilapidated garbage can lid in the other hand. Felix and a few other boys milled outside the sliding-door, anxiously awaiting Max’ return.

After catching his breath, Max blurted, “Daddy, I need some catsup!”

Were they having a barbecue without Jack’s permission? He supposed they’d request lighter fluid and matches next.

“No.” was all the oxygen Jack could conjure.

“C’mon, we just want the girls across the street to think we really stabbed each other. We tried peeing in the garbage cans, but they didn’t look.”

“You want the girl’s attention? Try taking out the garbage.” Jack knew Max didn't get the reference but was simply too tired to care. They were boys, and hadn't Emerson said, “It is the blessing of friends that you can be stupid with them.”

“Hey, Max, listen, how about we make smores later and catch fireflies tonight? As soon as it gets dark.”

“Really, Daddy? Yay!” Max came over to give him an awkward hug, the garbage can lid rubbing Jack’s cheek. Jack would be headed to his fifth shower for the day, third since the pool poop incident. Then, when Jack’s beautiful boy turned to leave, the child seemingly forgetting why he even ran inside, Jack noticed a dark spot on the back on Max’s hairline.

“Max, c’mere, little man. What’s this on your neck?”

Max sat down next to him, and Jack saw the grossest tick he’d ever seen in his life. Slightly bloated but head definitely imbedded into his little boy’s skin, Jack even saw a beady little eye. Lyme disease could ruin a kid’s life. He knew he needed to call Charlie, even though his buddy was out of town.

“Get a pair of tweezers and pluck that parasite off Max’ neck. If it draws blood, that means you got the head. And then, dude, you're gonna need to go back to the ER, sorry but it could be a deer tick or something worse. Once you pluck it off, put it in a jar and bring it with you to the ER. They may start an antibiotic. They’ll at least get baseline-bloodwork.”

Jack didn’t know it was possible to be headed for the fourth time that day to the ER, yet, there he was, waiting, once again, for one of his sons to be seen by a doctor. Max and Felix were content to stare at the incoming bloodied customers and eavesdrop.

“Fried an egg right there on the sidewalk,” said a guy in a wheelchair.

“Once saw an ant catch fire just like that, then sizzle out.” Said another…

Jack tried tuning everyone out and continued to staunch the trickling blood from the hole in Max’ neck.

Jack was both mortified and relieved when the doctor first looked at Max’ neck and was a bit shocked at the hole Jack had made. “That’ll need to heal from the inside out. He’ll need an antibiotic.”

Jack assumed a quick microscopic look at the tick would tell him if he needed to worry for the rest of his life. The doctor returned and explained. “Sir, there’s no need to worry about Lyme disease because what you plucked from his head was a watermelon seed.” 

When did they last have watermelon? When did Max last bathe? The only thing Jack said upon discharge was, “I saw an eye.” 

9pm - Saturday-99 degrees

Jack was sprawled face down on the backyard lounger half listening to Jess over his speaker phone prattle on about the amazing spa -how she missed them- was excited to see them in the morning. Jack simply prayed they'd still be alive. In order to avoid the ER one more time, he’d donate a kidney.

The boys ran around the yard after smores. Darkness had set-in, a blessing. They held little nets and were catching fireflies. Jack was simply content to not move a muscle while watching his boys frolic with his wife’s loving voice in the background. He knew he had a lot of explaining to do, but it could wait – Jess sounded so happy. Just as Jack was about to wrap-up their conversation and the firefly hunt, he caught a glimpse of his sons eating something.

He jumped from the lounger, nearly throwing out his back and yelled, “What did you two just eat?”

“Fireflies.” They exposed their bellies – taking turns staring into each other’s bellybuttons, and giggling.

“Spit those out, why are you eating bugs? That’s disgusting. What is the matter with the two of you?”

“Max said our stomachs would light up like ET – did it work, Daddy?”

“C’mon, get inside now! Drink some water, get ready for bed. Only one story and lights out! I’m done! " 

Back on the deck, following the boys inside, Jack heard a slight whining sound, and turned to notice his phone was still laying in the same spot he’d left it, and apparently Jess was still on the other end. Jack lifted the phone to his ear.

The firefly ingestion incident could be crossed off his explanations in the morning because Jess heard the entire scenario.

“You do realize, they could get sick from eating nocturnal insects. Insects have ways to protect themselves, like poisonous secretions and all kinds of…”

“I gotta go, honey, I can’t leave them alone for five seconds and they only ate one which they spit out,” Jack lied. He’d apologize for it the next day. “Love you and I’ll see you tomorrow.” After disconnecting, he immediately Googled the toxicity of ingesting fireflies. They’d survive.

Saturday – 11pm – 98.6 degrees

Reports of the day’s record-breaking temperatures did not phase Jack. After tucking his half-asleep boys into their bunks, he cleaned the house as best he could, prepared a weak outline for Jess he titled, “ER explanations,” checked his slumbering boys one last time that night, and was rendered nearly comatose.

Finally horizontal under his ceiling fan, in that lovely antechamber of semi-lucidity and sweet sleep, Jack pondered why he could’ve studied all sorts of majors in college but the most remiss was a parenting degree. He could have certainly used those invaluable courses on a day such as this.

Parenting was clearly the hardest, most underestimated job on the planet. His final thought before slumber was, perhaps, that’s the reason it was known as a bachelor’s degree.