Fun at the Park

Ah, the park. One of natures greatest inventions, so full of bark, slides, swings, and strange screeching children. The Doyle Boys love going to the park, sometimes so much that they are willing to injure each other to get to one.

Allow me to explain.

The other night, Ryan and Ethan were playing outside when the metaphorical dinner bell rang and they had to come in and wash their hands. Ryan was unhappy that his playtime was cut short and asked if we might be able to go to a park after dinner. Jen and I both thought that his was a good idea, but we wanted to hold it out as a reward to increase the possibility that there would be no incidents during dinner. So we promised the little ones that if dinner went well we would go to a park. This went over fairly well, as did dinner. After dinner, however, things turned for the worse when Ryan and Ethan, in their excitement to go to the park, started running around the house jumping into each other and, in general, having a fairly good time. We tried to put an end to this, but short of physical restraint nothing was working. Eventually their boisterous play ended badly when both ended up injured after one body slam too many and we had to put off the park until the next day. This resulted in many tears due partly to the impact injuries but mostly due to the loss of the park for the evening.

The next morning, though, I surprised the boys by telling them that we would go to one of the big parks in the area. This particular park is basically 2 medium sized parks merged into one giant mecca of playtime fun. It also has a decent sized pond with walking trails, ducks, birds, and other fun nature things. There were, it must be said, no elephants or giant prehistoric crocodiles despite Ethan's testimony when we got back home.

After a relatively uneventful half hour of playing on the slides and jumping around in the sandbox, I asked if they wanted to cruise down the trail and around the pond. Both boys shouted their approval and off we went, Ryan at a run, me at a walk, and Ethan at a run/walk/complete stop/walk the wrong way back to the swings/run away from me when I tried to catch him/walk again. This particular trail starts up on a fairly steep hill and follows a switchback route to get to the bottom. From the top of this trail the entire pond is visible, as are the various bridges, paths, and open spaces surrounding it. It is rather beautiful, but Ethan didn't waste any time protesting.

"Scared," he said, pointing to the open land to the east of the pond. "Elfants."

Confused, I asked him to clarify. "Are you scared of Elephants?"

He nodded and pointed again. "Scared. Elfants."

Ryan joined the conversation and tried to be helpful. "But Ethan, there are no elephants out there. Do you see any Elephants?"

"Scared." Point. "Elfants." Point Hard.

"No," Ryan said again. "No elephants!"

"ELFANTS!" yelled Ethan.

I could see that this was going to go nowhere, so I just said, "Why doesn't Daddy pick you up, and we'll go show you that there are no elephants here, ok?"

Ethan paused for a second while he appeared to think it over, nodded, and put his arms up in the universal childhood symbol of "pick me up". I grabbed him, and set off again down the path. I kept reassuring him that there were no elephants down there, that elephants did not live in this area, and even if for some reason one or two relocated from their African or Asian homeland (I'm not sure which type of elephant he imagines is down there) they would be very visible due to the fact that they are the largest land animals around.

When we got to the bottom of the path, Ryan led the way ("Just like Nigel Marvin, I'm in search of giant dinosaurs...") and Ethan squirmed to be put down. I obliged and we followed our tour guide.

"I've been here many times, Dad, so you just follow me and we'll be ok."

"OK," I said, "but just be careful not to get too close to the water, and watch out for ducks and geese."

"Why?" Ryan asked. "They're not that big. And they are kinda slow."

"Sure, ducks are small won't normally do anything, but geese can be big and will bite if they feel that they are in danger."

Ryan turns around, looks me right in the eye and calmly says, "I'll fight a goose."

Trying hard, and mostly failing, to suppress a laugh, I said, "Really?"

"Really."

"Fight Goose!" said Ethan, flailing about with his legs and hands in his best Power Ranger impression. "Quack!"

The time had come to lay down the law. "Ok - No one is going to fight any animals while we are here, understand?"

"Why not?" asked Ryan.

"Fight Animals!" said Ethan.

"Because," I said pushing on, "this is where they live. You wouldn't want an animal to come into your house and try and fight you, would you?"

Ryan thought for a second. "No, but if a goose ever comes to my house, I can fight it then, right?"

"Right. You can fight a goose if it comes into the house."

I bet you don't have to have this conversation with little girls.

The rest of the walk went well and we eventually made it back home. And Ryan was a little disappointed to see that in our absence no geese had invaded our house.