I was chopping firewood at Papa Scrum's house. I found it tiring, yet peaceful. I also thought Hossmom might think this was hot. Isn't this what women dream about? Muscles rippiling, grunting, conquering nature. She didn't, she just wanted me to take a shower.
But I found the experience relaxing, a cathartic rhythm providing me a mantra to figure some stuff out. To ask some tough questions and look deep inside to find the insight that manly exercise can bring. Afterward, I'm going to eat some steak and eggs and then plot how to defeat communism while enjoying a montage of me thinking.
The questions came and I was slowly getting answers. What should I do about Hossmom losing her job? Is it better to do the Running Man or the Tornado as a touchdown dance?
And why does my daughter destroy everything that she touches? Why is she so destructive.
This is the one question that I could find no answer for. The answer would not come no matter how many times I brought the ax down. I thought that each time I split a log, the reason would be shining in the middle, a lost knot of insight. But it was not. Only the question remained.
I've turned this around in my mind many times. She just destroys things. It's not intentional, it's just who she is. She doesn't start her day by thinking "I wonder if I can smash dad's bowls." It's not that direct. Instead, she thinks "Wow, that is a cool bowl, I wonder how long I can sit in it." And then before you know it, smash, the bowl is in pieces.
When she drilled a hole in my cellphone it was not to cause any harm to me, it was to see what was inside the cellphone. And she's seen me drill stuff before so obviously her logic was to follow my example. That's why the screen is cracked on my cellphone.
But the question, how did she get this way. Have I inadvertently taught her this behavior or is it more likely that she is super genius that wants to know how things work.
I put aside the ax and grabbed another piece of wood. It was a larger piece. The more I thought about my daughters behavior, the harder I hit the wood. I would miss half the time and send splinters up as little pieces of shrapnel.
She doesn't hit people. She's not mean by nature. She believes in hugs and kisses and princesses. By all accounts, she is a very normal little girl. But she is also a little girl that ties her Barbies by the neck and leaves them swinging from doorknobs. She says that they look pretty and are playing.
She is a little girl that fears almost nothing except the occasional bug. She will jump from the highest point possible without thinking twice about it. In fact, this is how she has dislocated her elbow. Twice. And even with bugs now, I've taught her how to smash them so at least I'm channeling that fear into revenge which is essential in any minion training.
She's destructive. I know this. She's got about as much grace as a drunk Rhino walking home from a stag party. Something's getting dented. Like my car. Back bumper, about a foot to the right of center. That's where she did a header into the car with her bike.
Where does she get this from? How has she learned how to do this. I say to her "Honey, why do you have to wreck so many things?" She says "Daddy, accidents happen." And it's true, I can't fault her reasoning. Around my daughter, accidents happen.
I swing again at the big log. This time I at least hit it but it still refuses to split. I push on, I'm going to split this son of a bitch.
She gave her brother a hug so hard that he started crying. It wasn't on purpose, she just really loves her brother like George loves his rabbits. She tackled one of her friends today trying to tell him goodbye but he wouldn't stay still. So she made him stay still. She likes to stand on my feet with her hard shoes on. I'm pretty sure she has broken my toe.
I don't know if I'll ever get the answer to this question, no matter how much wood I chop. I decide that I have enough and bring back Papa Scrum's ax. I consider talking about it with him, as he is one of my closest friends and I'm sure he would understand. However, there are some roads a man has to walk alone and I think that this is one of them. I don't know why she is so destructive, I only know that for some reason she is. I may never understand why.
I load up the wood and hand the ax back to Papa Scrum. I let him know that I'll probably have to buy him a new one because I seem to have broken the handle. Accidents happen.