My three brothers, The Sister and I spent seven wonderful years growing up at 110 Flamingo Street. Looking back, it truly was a magical time filled with adventures and misadventures you can only read about in books like “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” or “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” But as magical and fun as it was for us kids, there were definitely moments my parents reconsidered how smart the idea of having a child was, much less five. Their frustration meter seemed to peak every time they heard a door being slammed.
Ask most any parent or grandparent out there and they will all agree. Kids continually slamming doors is a universal irritation. Being a kid myself once, I will come to their defense. They really don’t realize what they are doing. (Or they do and are just trying to irritate their parents.) In either case, yesterday, a teenager climbed into my car wanting me to take her to school with a slam of my door so strong I actually thought parts of the car fell off.
After a quick look around the garage for any dislodged car parts and finding none, I climbed back in and politely ask if she would mind closing the door a little more gently next time. I added, “The car is old and so am I.”
She said that it was odd. Her mom and grandparents also complained of how she closes doors. Smiling, I responded, “Perhaps they are on to something?” And then reminded her that she was riding in a car not a tank. Don’t really know if she heard me or not. All her attention was devoted to tapping keys on her phone. Guess she was texting her mom to see if someone else could drive her to school. That or she was looking up the price of a good used tank.
To save The Wife’s and my life, a detour to the local grocery store had to be made before school. Seems the old guy in the car forgot to buy cat food, and the last couple of bites were poured into a bowl to the disgruntled looks from Yellow Eyes. The hairball presented to me soon afterwards and her “accidentally” missing the litter box showed me her displeasure with my forgetfulness of breakfast and the skimpiness of her meal. So it was off the store we went.
Once in the checkout line, I took a quick poll of the cashier as to whether she slammed doors growing up. She said she did then and her kids do now. She also added, “I don’t know where they got it from. Must be from their dad.” The lady behind us in line said it was the most irritating thing that her twin boys do.
Seems my door-slamming poll was starting to bother my teenage passenger, so I decided not to question the bag boy. That and the mountain of a man at the end of the line seemed to put an exclamation point on my polling. He stroked his two-foot long red beard thoughtfully and grumbled, “First time I slammed a door in our house growing up, my dad was on the other side. He threw me back through it. Learned my lesson. Never did it again.” His grin showed the gaping holes where two of his front teeth used to reside.
Walking quickly back to my car, the teenager asked, “Big Papa, do you always talk to complete strangers that way? It was embarrassing.” I told her I would’ve asked more questions of the giant with the red beard, but he looked hungry. And I didn’t want to become his breakfast. The teenager responded with a sigh and an eye roll and then went back to texting. Probably begging Mom to never let me drive her again.
We got to school on time and after she collected her backpack and mumbled a quick, “Thank you for driving me,” the teenager hopped out of the car. That’s when a truly amazing thing happened. She closed the door gently, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she waved.
Driving away I thought about what had happened. If a teenager could correct door-slamming, a behavior I believe is ingrained in all teenagers, then perhaps I could learn not to be so embarrassing and irritating while out in the public. Can’t wait to tell The Wife.
The thought quickly brought a smile to my face and then I shook my head. She’ll never believe I’ll change. Even I’m not that good of a storyteller.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
