Watching life as a husband, father of 7, pastor, and software engineer.
20 years ago, I set up my office so that three different computers were accessed using the same screen. This week, I set it up so that one computer could have three screens.
There’s a sermon illustration in there somewhere, but I don’t know what it is yet.
After hand cutting and retying the rubber bands, disassembling and reassembling the bi-plane a couple more times in order to get the landing gear on – the bi-plane was ready for its first flight. I called the 8 year old in and showed him how to wind up the propeller – his eyes gleamed when he saw the rubber band double back on itself with the increasing potential energy. I winced – expecting it to implode under the torque at any moment.
The first flight surprised us all by its furious intensity.
The crash landing in the bushes effectively removed all of the wings and we lost most of the plastic mounting plates (I should have used more tape).
“It’s ok.”, I said reassuringly, “red looks cool on a camouflaged bi-plane – like rising suns – only squarer.”
I reset my efforts to figure out the 1st step in the construction of the bi-plane and still continued to avoid eye contact with Mom, who had just finished her project making curtains or curing cancer or something easy like that.
I finally figured out that every joint of the entire bi-plane was to be held together by its own stickers (tape is good) and after trying every possible combination of the various plastic wing struts and wing-to-fuselage connection pieces, things were starting to come together.
Meanwhile, it was now getting dark outside, and the white glider was now mostly encased in red duct tape.
The 6 and 8 year olds had been passing it back and forth in the yard – when they weren’t otherwise extracting it from every tree in the neighborhood by throwing things at it.
We had long ago sacrificed aerodynamic performance for structural integrity.
Two more layers of tape, and it would pass for a football – a nice red one.
A cheap rubber powered balsa wood bi-plane could be really bad, actually.
I struggled to interpret the virtually wordless instructions and the random assortment of parts and stickers. The only words on the instructions were those ever helpful blue print terms like “typical”, “same for left”, and “4x”.
“Snap”. Weeping.
The aileron for the Styrofoam glider was already broken – too much stress during the sticker application phase. I took advantage of the distraction to off load the bi-plane construction to my 15 year old while I went out to the garage to, um…, look for the duct tape.
“We’ll fix it.”, I assured the tearful 6 year old.
It’s a good thing I have a sizeable stash of color coordinated duct tape. I returned to find the 8 year old entertaining himself with my cell phone (he’s no dummy), and my 15 year old, brow furrowed, and heavily involved now in trying to figure out the bi-plane instructions as well.
I took my time covering the white glider with the red duct tape – strengthening the weakest joints in anticipation of its embattled future. Finally, I sent the 6 year old outside for the first flight and returned to the bi-plane project just in time to hear my 15 year old say, “I have NO idea what is going on here – this is IMPOSSIBLE!”
My 6 year old was fairly bouncing while I assembled his glider. When the clean white jet was completed, I handed it over to him for final finishing – the stickers.
I then focused my attention on the 8 year old who was waiting patiently for me to help him with his rubber band powered – Oh No! – a BI-PLANE balsa wood glider!!?
I should have paid closer attention at the store. Seriously, a bi-plane? Who would ever…?
Oh well, wiping the sweat off my brow and avoiding eye contact with my wife who was at this time enjoying herself just a little too much, I continued.
“How bad could it be?”, I thought.
I decided to spend some quality time with my boys.
We went to the craft store, intending to buy some of those cheap balsa wood gliders. I knew they wouldn’t last long, but they’d be fun and the point was to get some quality time, right? In my cocky, “I’m going to hit a home run as a Dad this time.” mood, we decided to get an even bigger Styrofoam jet glider for the 6 year old and a rubber band powered one for the 8 year old.
Ominously, my 15 year old passed. He’s got, “experience”.
Their mother rolled her eyes when we settled down to the kitchen table for “craft time”. “What does she know?”, I thought.
“Can I put the stickers on mine?”, said the 6 year old.
“YES!!, OK?!??”, I shouted.
I suppose it wouldn’t have been so irritating if it wasn’t for the fact that it was only 1 of his 36,023 similar questions and/or random observations.
…keep your cape out of the chain.
“Wow – it’s not so cold down here anymore.”, said my oldest son as he shuffled out of the bedroom this morning. “I guess it’s not that it’s cold outside as much as it is whether the heater vents are opened.”
…reset the goal.
I have now been branded. I belong, I am owned. At least that’s the spin I’m putting on it.
It’s what happens when you share a bathroom with your wife, and she decides to poke you in the cheek with the plug to the hair dryer while you’re standing on the scale, of course not realizing that the prongs were very hot.
