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Family

Karma

The boy has a run-in with karma, but doesn’t realize it.

The scream that came from the upstairs was an other-worldly cry of anguish. A passerby could have been forgiven for thinking some horrible act of torture had been perpetrated. Dog #1 got up and started pacing around, panting- a sign of nervousness and confusion. The birds went on alert.

Unperturbed, I got up and went outside to check on the Wife and the lass, whom were busying themselves with more plantings. The Wife had a shovel full of dirt and the lass was bringing a flower to her. The lass saw me first and asked “What was that scream?”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” I responded. Clearly, things were going smoothly out here. Several pots were already filled with flowers. Next door, the neighbor was mowing his lawn.

From the second floor emanated the sound of plastic objects colliding at high-velocity.

The Wife then answered the lass’ question. “That“, she paused for emphasis, “was your brother.” She was packing some more dirt into a pot.

Wordlessly, I turned and went back into the house. I trudged up the stairs with my hands in my pockets, my head hanging forward as I prepared to deal with an enraged boy. As I approached his room, the crashing plastic noises ceased. They were replaced with stomping noises.

I turned the corner and entered his room. The boy pretended he didn’t notice. He then very deliberately and with great flourish tossed another block into the container. I didn’t need to say anything.

“I can’t get these stupid blocks to hold together. They won’t work,” he spat at me. He gestured towards the blocks that were assembled to form a wheel and axle. These aren’t normal blocks. They’re Wedgits. I won’t try to describe them here, other than to say they aren’t the normal stacking type of block. Check the link.

“You mean like that?” I questioned. There was a wheel assembly sitting there, exactly like he wanted assembled. So clearly, they could be assembled that way. Even more clearly, he’d gotten frustrated trying to accomplish the assembly and coped by screaming and throwing things. He’s 8, how else should he respond?

“Yes, they won’t go together because they hate me.”

Anthropomorphizing. The ultimate way to dodge personal responsibility. Clearly, the blocks have it in for him. Probably paying him back for all the time that’s passed since the last time he’d played with them. Wonder if they were silently taunting him the whole time? Was Woody hiding somewhere, orchestrating things?

“Here- watch,” he commanded. So I did. He huffily knelt and started grabbing the necessary parts from the basket. A wheel, an axle, the support parts. It wasn’t enough to simply reach in and pick the pieces out. He had to thrust his hand in and grab haphazardly, scattering the uninteresting pieces. In some instances, he did this two, three, four times before he finally nabbed what he was after. By God, he was going to punish those miserable pieces of plastic!

Having procured all the pieces, he muttered “Like this” as he hastily began assembling them. I didn’t even have time to tell him to “Calm down” before he’d finished. The pieces had gone together exactly in the way moments earlier he’d claimed they couldn’t.

He sat there, dumbfounded.

“Interesting…” I said and started walking out.

He’d recovered from his success now. “I know why they went together, Dad.”

“Oh? You mean other than the fact that you put them together?” I quipped.

Undaunted, he explained “They went together because you were here and they wanted to make me wrong. That’s how it always works. I always have to be wrong in front of you.”

The plastic objects still got the better of him, apparently.

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