A Bad Run

It started when Kara didn't actually want to ride her bike.

This afternoon, Lynn-nore was feeling tired and Kara and I decided to go out. She was going to ride her bicycle to the park, and I was going to follow along. The sun was just coming out from behind the clouds, and it was a cool, though muggy day. As I said before, it started when Kara didn't actually want to ride her bike. She quite properly walked it across the street, hands appropriately placed on seat and handle, but afterward she never really got on. There were a short stretches where she more sat than walked, limply pedalling like an invalid. Overall, I'd say she was on her bike a collective 10 minutes of the two hours we were out.

I saw no harm in her pushing her bike. No one wants to do that for long, not when you can ride. "She will eventually learn that it's better to ride than walk." Nevertheless, going as slowly as we did, and with the sky clouding over, we were passed on the sidewalk by old ladies and wood ants. I kept switching internally between the settings Sit, Walk, Stand so that it is a miracle my motor skills didn't softboot my nervous system as if it were a Microsoft product, me wetting my pants and suffering a stroke in the process.

When we arrived at the park, there were a lot of people there. One family in particular was much animated. Three girls and a boy, all roughly Kara's age, with their Mother and Father. The latter, in a baseball cap and a red swet shirt, was roaring and chasing them about. The former, a 40ish woman with black hair and a green pullover, alternated between being a witch and being afraid of the alligator. At any rate - "Don't eat us Mr. Alligator!" they all squealed, skipping away in every direction. Kara had to be a part of it.

Unfortunately, when one of the girls asked if she would like to play, Kara quite rudely punted a "No." Then she sulked under a tree. I put her back in the game. Another of the girls had mercy on her and let Kara join in. That's when Kara decided she should roar like a lion and began trying to make the Alligator-Daddy go away and leave everyone alone. It didn't take a full minute for her to be off sulking again. I put her back in. More roaring. Ostracization. Sulking. Finally one of the girls comes up to me and says, "We don't mind if she plays but when she roars it ruins everything." (Kara had neglected to note that the girls didn't want their Daddy to go away, They wanted to be chased.) What do stand up's call a situation like this? Oh yes, "Sudden death".

I, too, was having rabid introverted social issues. What is a man of 35 supposed to do when his daughter wants to play in what is most-obviously a family-centric game? I can't exactly pretend I know them, take on some playground persona and leap about like a lunatic (pretty much what they were already doing.) Then there was the obvious class problem. By not rejecting Kara, they were acting well-bred and upper class. Kara's inability to keep her own ideas to herself, thus befuddling the works, did not reflect good-breeding and was most certainly lower-class. And, the worst bit, aside from the girls, not one member of the family spoke to either Kara or me - not a word. Even when the Daddy-Alligator was jumping away from Kara while holding a kid in his arms, he didn't say a word to her. Intentional or not, I couldn't help but feel Kara and I both were being tolerated as barbarian outsiders.

Of course, it seemed like I should know what to do. I should be able to reach into the "good parenting" bag of tricks and pull out some wisdom. Instead, frustrated, embarrased, freezing (God had turned on the AC with a good, salty sea breeze) and altogether put-out Kara and I walked home. She pushed that bike - while wearing her helmet - all the way back. It was a bad run, all the way round.