When we go to the park, the kids always seem to gravitate toward the places I would least like them to play. Because we sometimes hit the park at night (the little bastards/angels keep the same hours as fans of cocaine) they have great opportunities to create truly uncomfortable situations.
The absolute edge of the pond is a favorite. The parks and rec people even put in large stones forming a dangerous crossing that make a tempting adventure. This particular pond is about 80 percent water; the rest is duck shit, trash and hepatitis. Dapper has been in it twice.
And, oh hey, is that a homeless person’s nest? Lets run across his bed roll in bare feet to check for needles.
Better yet, there’s that same homeless guy staring vacantly out from a park bench, muttering to himself. We will absolutely throw him the ball or play in the puddle two feet from him. Does Dapper not see this guy, or do all adults look that much alike to the kid that he is incapable of telling normal from batshit crazy?
Then there’s the classic evening scene with couple of horny teenagers swapping hickies on the lone swing set. Well, we must go on that swing NOW, DADDY!!! “Sorry,” I say as Dapper hops on the swing, “anything new in angst? You guys like Zepplin?” After a few uncomfortable moments they slink off.
Honestly, I consider it a personal favor to the dad whose daughter is rounding second base on a playground to run them off, as they are reminded of the possible consequences of sex; A chatty three year old who doesn’t sleep.