Holy drop the ball in Times Square, Batman! Our year is all but a memory. Two thousand double ought three, we hardly knew ye. That said, I need to relate one story from the old year.
It was December 23, I just got back to the office, sat down at my desk and noticed a red light on my telephone. That indicates somebody has left me a message. As I try to answer my messages promptly I punched in my highly secret access code and received the following message.
‘Sean Rush rides again.?
It was my wife’s voice on the recording. Was that sarcasm or frustration I was hearing?
‘Mr. Rush, your son had to be extricated from the bottom of a shopping cart by two Lowe’s employees. Call me.?
Definitely frustration.
On December 23 Jen was up to her eyeballs in Christmas preparation. This was the first year our family would host her family’s traditional Polish holiday gathering. It’s called Vigilia and it is very formal and Jen had spent countless hours making everything in our home look perfect. (I helped by staying out of the way.)
With almost every task completed, I asked her to find some pulls for a cabinet I had just refinished. So, ever the trooper, she loaded up the boys and went to Lowe’s. With the needed pulls she got into the 200-mile long checkout lane while the boys sat politely in the shopping cart.
Did I say, ‘sat,? as in ‘sit??
Did I say, ‘polite,? as in ‘being still??
As Jen approached the front of the still 200-mile long line, one of her darling boys started to squeal.
Little Sean Rush, born on the luckiest of day of year 2000 (March 17), a lad with the twinkle of an Irish devil in his eyes, is a monkey. Sean’s name should have been George — as in Curious George. He’s three, but I don’t know if he’ll make it to four. He gets into everything. He’s fearless (or hasn’t learned to be afraid yet). He climbs up the back of chairs. He climbs up to the top of the bunk bed without a ladder. He climbs on the window sills. He likes to take apart his brother’s toys. He’s fascinated with his mother’s sewing machine (that used to work until Sean decided to investigate further). When I think of Sean, I think of author Stephen King’s, Children of the Corn.
He is what country singer Travis Tritt sang about: T-R-O-U-B-L-E. He’s hell on wheels and hell bent for the hospital’s emergency room. Of course, he hasn’t busted anything yet. Maybe he gets that from his old man — us Rushes are good bouncers. He’s gonna? be a handful.
Did I just say, ‘gonna?,? as in the future?
So, back to the day before Vigilia — the day Jen has to tie up all the loose ends. Jen, with her two lads is at a checkout lane with three million other last minute shoppers at Lowe’s. As she gets ready to pay for some items her dear husband desired, Sean squeals.
A quick look finds devil child entangled between the shopping cart basket and the wire rack under the basket. He crawled in between and his little three-year-old legs got caught in the wire rack. Jen gave a tug, he squealed some more. As she tried to free her son the checkout lane behind her quickly grew to four million people — four million people with little or no sense of humor, sympathy or time. Come on, it was nearly time to celebrate the birth of Christ and everybody was obviously cranky.
The quick-thinking cashier, sensing the growing unease in the line, radioed for help — thus avoiding a Christmas riot. The Rush Clan was removed from the line. Two folks in Lowe’s vests, pulled and wiggled and tugged and finally rescued Mr. Naughty.
He escaped unscathed. He survived, but how long can one kid’s luck run?
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Comments, questions, suggestions for Mr. Naughty’s father, Don, can be e-mailed to the following address: dontrushmedon@aol.com