I don’t know how, but I seem to have gone to war with my youngest little dude, Hyper Lad.
No, the two of us haven’t banded together to take on a superior foe. It’s not us against the world. It turns out, it’s me against him, the loser gets the stuffing scared out of him.
Yeah. We’re in a Scare War.
Seriously, I have no idea how this started, but Hyper Lad has this thought that his life won’t be complete until he’s the cause of his dad squealing like a little girl and sprinting for the horizon at top speed.
To which end, he’s hidden around corners. He’s camped out under beds. He’s secreted himself in closets. He’s stood freezing out in the night air, around the corner from the big trash can, out of sight, on the off chance that I’ll go outside before he becomes a Hypercicle and empty the trash. All so he can leap out, screaming at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around like a crazy man.
Now, as fun as this sounds, and it does sound fun, I foresee several problems for Hyper Lad. The first is that he’s ridiculously easy to startle/scare. Honestly, all I have to do is walk a few steps ahead of him, turn the corner first and then turn back around to boo the boy. I almost feel bad for the young dude.
I mean, there is some sort of visceral thrill of seeing someone else squeal like a little girl and then head for the horizon at top speed.
As long as that person isn’t you, of course.
Now, the second problem for Hyper Lad is that, like all dads, I am startle proof. No, really. I’ve trained myself so much that my startle reflex isn’t so much a reflex as a suggestion and one easily ignored at that.
As a dad, I’ve seen worse than a suddenly appearing and screaming face. And I’ve seen it, many days, even before I’ve cracked open that first coke of the morning.
He’s not waving around an eviction notice, or a bill from a new credit card opened by my wife, known (secretly) to me as She Who Must Be Shopping, and then forgotten about until the collectors start calling, or even Hyper Lad’s own face waving around yet another driver’s license and insurance request.
Jumping out and screaming? Dude, please.
The poor young dude doesn’t stand a chance.