Learning the Laws of Physics and the Strength of Branches

My ES is learning lots these days (ohh, I'm hearing a former principal in my mind even as I type - she would always end the morning's announcements with a lilting "Learn Lots!"). Most of these are not lessons he is hearing from us. Oh, the words may be going into the ear canal, but the brain is stuck in that adolescent mode, like a scratch on an old LP, convinced that his own wisdom is sufficient.

A glimmer of daylight penetrated his closed mind today. For a nanosecond of his life now, he is appreciating the full truth that parents don't just speak to hear their own voices and they don't give advice (or should I say, forbid actions) merely because we "never want to let them have any fun at all." I don't know how long this nanosecond will last, but I'm aching for him to benefit from some aches and pains.

My husband is not a handy-man. He is an intellectual. A book-man. A thought-man. Apart from a few hammers, some screwdrivers, lug nuts (whatever those are) and wrenches, he is tool-free. However, for the time being we are living in his deceased grandmother's home, where my father-in-law has stocked a whole assortment of tools along the walls of the garage. This is like a dream come true to a 12 year old boy, though possibly a nightmare for his parents.

ES and a friend went for a walk in our woods this afternoon. Prior to leaving, my husband took the time to call Robert (a man who often hunts in our woods on weekends) to ensure the boys' safety. Robert was not hunting, so they were free to explore.

While exploring, they came upon a lengthy vine hanging from a tree. Somehow, they managed to pull the vine down and bring it back to the house. If I had to guess, I'd say it was 20 or 30 feet long. I had to ask them to move it off the driveway because I was heading off on a brief shopping trip with MS.

While I was gone, my husband informed me, they got out a ladder and nailed the vine to a branch on a tree. They cut off the bottom with a saw and were swinging from it. Unfortunately, contentment with anything new doesn't last long for my son, so they were hatching another plan. I'm guessing my husband stifled these shenanigans, because when I arrived home, the friend was gone and ES was inside. Hubby just wanted me to be aware of what ES had been plotting, because he was going downstairs to exercise for a while. ES had actually wanted to climb a bigger tree and hang the vine from a distance higher up. Moreover, he was upset because my husband wouldn't let him try it. I shook my head, commiserating on the inherent risk of raising adolescent boys.

Hoping to run off some little boy energy and delay the task of making dinner, I took the boys outside to play. Before I knew it, ES was up in a tree, bemoaning his overly strict, safety-conscious father. He attempted to show me what he had wanted to do. He even asked me to get the nails, hammer and leftover vine for him.

Of course, there was no way I was cancelling the other parent's "NO," but I did listen to him voice his plan. I began explaining my own support of the "grouch's decision." My primary concern was that the branch didn't look to be strong enough to hold ES's weight.

How, indeed, can you prove that a branch is strong enough to hold your weight, without swinging out onto the branch. I believe he was mid-sentence saying, "See, it CAN support my ... (oh, say, a yard away from the trunk of the tree and probably 15 feet off the ground)." He didn't get to the word "weight." If he did, it was drowned out by my wail. Because his hands were still around the branch (you know, don't you, that these things don't REALLY happen in slow-motion, even though they appear that way to the brain and the eye), he took the blunt of the fall on his tail-bone. He did hop up quickly in an attempt to convince me that he was fine.

Of course, I felt it necessary to regale him with stories of how lucky he was. He wasn't holding a hammer and nails during the fall. He landed on soft grassy ground. He didn't get impaled by either the branch or anything else lying on the ground. He is still alive. He can still walk. Etc., probably ad nauseam.

At first, he didn't want to tell his dad. He took the huge broken limb down to the draw. I was going to honor that, but did intend to blog about it (thinking, we'll see if hubby is one of my readers or not - ha!). He ended up telling on himself (probably because his rear end is hurting).

Wait a minute - didn't I recently blog about how a boy is not likely to tell on himself??? However, this time, he had the added element of his entire family watching, apart from his dad, so I'm guessing he figured it was better to come from his own mouth than MS's.

Not sure what he'll feel like tomorrow morning, but I doubt it will be a stomach-ache he'll be complaining of this time. Still, I'm sure I'll be understanding and empathetic. After all, I've experienced my own streaks of "I know better than my Father." Indeed, many of those scratches on my brain's LP were playing long after I had passed adolescence. I'll be understanding and empathetic because I know what a bruised tail-bone feels like, even if I'm not a tree-climber or a boy!