Ok, forgive me more Isaac anecdotes. Eleven year old boys provide such a lot of material for wonderful weirdness.
What do you get when you cross 3 boys, ages 11-13, a rubber chicken, a football, a brick, and a muddy back yard?
Any guesses? Oh come on...
Poultry ball! And no I am not joking. I'm sure it will be the latest sports craze to sweep the nation. The brick is home plate. One pitches the football. One stands at bat while holding the rubber chicken. One squats as catcher. Since a rubber chicken does not have quite the oomph of a bat and a football has more mass than a baseball physics dictates hitting for distance is not the point. The location of other bases is somewhat in question but there seems to be a lot of sliding toward whatever might suggest a base.
I asked if there were any rulings on fowl balls or fly balls. I suggested the mudhens as a mascot. I asked about scoring and if anyone had a goose egg. They invited me to play but I declined, saying I was having fun watching. They called me a chicken.
Isaac had a homework assignment in Language Arts. He was to write a personal narrative. On Monday he had asked to go to a neighbor's house to play. He had his watch and I told him to be home by 6pm. At 6:30 after I called for him, he came in apologizing. I said, with perfect calmness, 'Tomorrow you don't leave your own yard.' He replied with similar calmness, 'I know. Sorry.' All was fine.
The narrative had him an hour late. I was worried sick. When he finally got home I flew into a rage and grounded him for a week. He went to his room with a slam of the door.
I asked him if he thought I had really been that mad and pointed out the other points of difference. He said, 'Yeah, I know. You just didn't get mad enough to be interesting.'
Ah, the art of literary embellishment is alive and well at the House of Lime!