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klutziness isn't genetic
Published online Tuesday, July 14
Brant's Slant by Brant Sappington
Special columnist
Thud. Bang. Crash. Crack.
"Ouch!!!!!!"
These are roughly the sounds I made recently as I tripped head first into the wall after discovering my sudden inability to step over one of the multiple baby gates in my house that prevent my twin boys from getting into the kitchen and other areas unsuited for toddler playtime.
As I leaned against the wall clutching my now throbbing foot and trying to determine exactly how to repair the damage done to the gate, my beloved wife comes around the corner to see what happened.
As the kind, gentle, love of my life surveys the damage and the pained look upon my face she looks deep into my eyes and utters the words of comfort I so desperately desire in my moment of need.
"It's got to be scary being you sometimes, huh."
Gee, thanks honey.
I quickly dissolved into almost hysterical laughter at the honesty of her statement. Only the one who knows me best could have come up with such an appropriate response to my predicament.
Graceful is a word I can be fairly certain has never been applied to me. I have spent my life finding new and inventive ways to injure myself, whether by falling over that large, invisible rock in the middle of the perfectly empty floor, nearly breaking my neck after stepping on a Lego, or almost knocking myself out after having a large pile of pants fall on my head from the top of the closet because I just had to had the one pair in the middle.
Life as a klutz has taught me caution. I always have a couple of Band-Aids in my wallet because I never know when that hamburger wrapper may become a paper cut causing machete of death.
I never leave home without a dose of Tylenol or the like because it's always possible I will trip over the curb and twist my ankle.
I always look both ways before crossing the street so I can carefully choose the vehicle I will step out in front of.
Seriously though, being accident prone has taught me to appreciate those days I escape life unscathed and helped me develop a sense of humor about my own mistakes. It's an essential tool for someone who has ripped his pants in public, once in the middle of a grocery store parking lot.
So to answer my wife's question, sometimes it is scary to be me. Sometimes it's downright frightening, but it's definitely never boring.
Brant Sappington is a staff writer for the Daily Corinthian.
Brant's Slant:
Becoming my parents
Published Sunday, May 24
By Brant Sappington
Staff writer
“Let me explain something to you. I am the parent. You are the child.
This is not optional.”
These were the words I found myself saying, pointlessly, to my
13-month-old son, Liam, as I tried to get the wiggling toddler to calm
down and go to sleep recently. As his twin brother snoozed quietly in
the nursery down the hall, Liam had gone into what I like to refer to
as “twin tornado” mode as time for bed approached, thanks mostly to an
ill-advised but unavoidable nap earlier in the evening.
As I held him close, rubbed his back and, eventually convinced him to
calm down and dose off, I realized how much my words sounded like
those of my own parents from my distant childhood.
It frightened me.
My first year of parenthood has brought numerous lessons, none larger
than the realization that at my core, for good and for ill, I am my
parents’ child. I’ve found myself more and more often saying and doing
things and then stopping to see if one of them is around because I
know, just know, that it must have been them and not really me.
I’ve been blessed to be raised by two loving, dependable people of
amazing character and strength. They have supported me with
encouragement and taught me by their example throughout my life.
As I look at the two little bundles of energy who spend their days
searching for new and creative ways to destroy my house and my sanity,
I see all the fear and responsibility that comes with understanding
that another human life totally depends on me. I also see the
boundless depths of a kind of love I never really understood until I
held them in that hospital nursery and the potential to learn from
them each day how to be a better man simply because I have to in order
to give them what they need and deserve.
There was a time when I feared becoming my parents. Like most young
people, I thought I knew so much more and swore I would do everything
different and better.
My children have taught me how very wrong I was. I realize now in the
way I interact with my family and with other people, in the way that
my life is totally focused on my boys and in countless other ways, I
am very much my parents’ child.
Instead of fearing that I may become my parents, I fear that I won’t.
I pray each day that God will give me the courage to take to heart the
lessons they taught and find a way to be to my children what they were
to me. I can’t imagine achieving any greater success in life.
When not chasing toddlers, Brant Sappington is a staff writer for the
Daily Corinthian. Click here to contact Brant.SUBMIT A SOUND OFF - Click here
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