We were in desperate need of groceries. Partly because of lack of ambition, and partly because there was still food in the house, we have not been grocery shopping for quite a while. After dinner, we packed up the boys and headed for Sam’s Club. (Heck, if we are only going to go grocery shopping once a month, we might as well make out trip worthwhile.)
After spending almost an hour in the store, we were finally done. We loaded up the groceries in the van and headed home. Once we arrived I began the daunting task of moving the groceries from the car to the apartment, and putting them away. RJ played outside, even though it was past his bedtime, because we had been busy all evening and he did not have a chance to play outside after dinner.
About an hour later I came outside to get him. He said he wanted to play outside for “a long, long time.” His long, long time lasted about five minutes. He came up to the door and I told him that there were going to be no in and out privileges, and that if he opened the door he was to be inside for the rest of the night.
He knocked on the door. I opened it and he ran in. He quickly ran back outside.
It was at this point that I told him that he needed to stay inside for the rest of the night. With the most matter of fact face that he could muster he said, “Daddy, I knocked the door. You opened the door, not me. I can play outside now.”
I let him play. How can I argue with that logic?
Written on August 25, 2005 at 2:22 PM by Ron.
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I remember my first vacuum cleaner. It was “inexpensive,” about $40 in 1997, and broke very quickly. I used a dust buster for about the next two years. It sounds a lot worse than it is, since at the time I lived in the dorms, and borrowed vacuums on a regular basis. This is especially important, since as a smoker, spilled ash trays were not that uncommon.
In 1999 my parents moved to Indiana, and I was out of a house for the summer. I was going in to my senior year of college, and had everything already set up and did not want to change my plans. My benevolent parents said that they would pay for an apartment for my, even though I was working, since I had planned on moving home for the summer and saving up money.
I relished my first apartment. I lived all by myself and enjoyed every minute of it. Unlike being married and having children, I could find everything in my apartment, since it was always where I left it. But I had no vacuum. I had been borrowing my Grandpa’s vacuum cleaner about once a week, but it was old and heavy and a pain to haul back and forth between his house, about 8 or 9 miles away, and my apartment.
My mother knew that I had feeling a bit down, and on a day off of her job search at the time, came to visit. Since I had nothing to hide from my parents 
, and they were paying the rent, my parents had keys to my apartment. I came home from school one day to find my Mom cleaning my kitchen and a brand new vacuum sitting in the living room. This is about the same time I was learning about financial responsibility, after having racked up massive amounts of credit card debt. I was bound and determined not to go further into debt nor ask anyone for help. I really could not have afforded a vacuum on my own. (Some days I could not even afford to eat, but that is another topic all together.)
That is the vacuum that I still have. I have repaired countless times, new belts and such, and it still works like a charm. But as the years passes, the volume increased. We have taken to not vacuuming the floor after 8 P.M. so that the boys can sleep. Yes, it is that loud. We could be sweeping the basement (finished) and it would wake the boys up upstairs. Although it works, it was time for a new one.
Mom and Dad came to the rescue again, and the UPS guy delivered a Hoover vacuum to my front door today. On my birthday, no less. Talk about timing. It is quiet, bag-less, has more attachments than you can shake a stick at, and even has a power boost mode for those things that you pick up because the vacuum cleaner could not get and then throw back on the floor to give the vacuum one more chance. Until I needed my first vacuum, I never though I would be excited or thankful to get cleaning equipment as a gift.
But, I am thankful. I am thankful that I have a family that takes care of each other, and listens to what each other want. I am thankful for my children who taught me to be less selfish (C’mon, what other late twenties guy would want a vacuum cleaner for his birthday?) And I am especially thankful for my wife, who will 
be the one using the vacuum cleaner.
I remember very few times growing up when my Dad got me something from the Ice Cream Truck. Mostly it was because we lived out in the country, and the Ice Cream Truck did not come by very often. The fact that we lived a good distance from the road probably played a major role as well. By the time we first heard the music we had better be sprinting for the road, or we were out of luck.
Not surprisingly, the few times that my Dad did buy me ice cream from the Ice Cream Truck are very special to me.
RJ and I were playing catch outside (and I say this because we do play catch indoors from time to time) when we heard the music. RJ very excitedly said that the Ice Cream Man was coming. We continued to play ball.
The more I heard the music and remembered how special those few times were to me, the more excited I got. After a good ten minutes of listening to “Pop Goes the Weasel,” I could not take it anymore. I dashed inside to grab my wallet, and RJ and I made a mad dash for the Ice Cream Truck.
We made it just in time, as they were just starting to pull away. At this point, I do not know who was more excited, me or RJ.
As I picked the boy up so he could tell the lady what he wanted, he said that I had to have some, too. How could I resist. We received our ice cream, and RJ said. “Thank you.”
We headed back to our apartment. We sat down on the stoop and opened our ice cream. For twenty minutes we made the most glorious sticky mess imaginable, sharing each other’s treat, and showing each other our very blue tongues.
I sincerely hope that the memories of these little moments between father and son will shape RJ’s life as much as they have shaped mine.