If any lessons were tucked into a book, they would compile chapters upon chapters of daily musings and experiences. He noted the riled nature of a rambunctious two year old who was less impressed about the skill of his father but more with that of the seven year old who joined in on the battle of the neighbors. He couldn't deter his little son's attention but tried. Creating bribery in the form of candy promises and staying up late. It was no contest as he watched the older boy roll the child size ball down the lane. The bumpers along the lane as an extra guide.
There was cringing involved, biting of his knuckle, keeping tight watch on the toddler who was instantly in position to chase after the ball. His worst scenario was seeing a small body glide down the smooth grain of the floor, and stumble into the pins. Further heightening his fears of being gobbled, or mangled by the machinery ducked behind the lane where the land of the pins lived. As a kid, he believed there were little gremlins trapped behind the wall, running the show while bowlers knew little of the workings of how balls and the pins all were wrangled and set for a new game.
Sitting down without actually being on grounds of game play, was nerve wrecking, causing him to bite at his nail nervously. He followed through, watching what was taught, until his child fell after pushing the ball with both hands. There was kicking, and a whine, whimpering from the lack of control or being unable to roll the ball along the floor like the big kids and adults. There was rolling around on the ground, a fit being had, and eyes from a short distance widened. He looked back to the group in the other lanes, and then his neighbor, wondering what she thought of him.
If his son's freak out was a reflection of his parenting or whatever he called it. This wasn't new, but new in a place with people in unfamiliar territory. Seizing the moment to contain the situation before a level eight melt down occurred, soles slid onto the floor, aiming to lift with a big hand. He scooped the child with care, then knelt down at his level. Picked up the first time he publicly was witness to a freak out, he had to bring himself down, and find an understanding.
Frustration stacked on top of onset panic, he was calm and more endearing than he excepted himself to be. The tears were brimming to the surface, bottom lip poking out. Marc shook his head internally on edge along with the kid, becoming the negotiator.
"Lo, listen to me. You cannot, and I mean cannot wild out every time something does not go your way. Feel me?"
He leaned back, eye squint, waiting for the wailing to unfurl. As if he was attempting to dismantle a bomb before it went off. Surprised the seconds brought nothing but silence and a small hand tugging on his father's shirt. Show me, show meeee...!!! was sung in a tune of urgency and entitled attention. He was used to getting his way but not used to the time frame often being separated.
"Chill, it's not your turn. Remember we talked about this, man? Wait. Patience. Sit tight for a minute.."
Unsure that his word would be looked over, he winced back once again, only to find a palm tapping his face. Daddy, look! was a demand that couldn't be ignored. If so, a level eight would turn into a ten, and the entire alley would have a show. He slowly stood up, took Lo's hand, and stood back while the pins were being reset. Pointing and overall observation from the eyes of a toddler, brought down his attention until it was Marc's turn.
"Stand back here. Watch what I do. Then we'll do one together, alright?"
Eyes glanced downward waiting for the nod. He let go, and went on his trek to grab a ball. Looking over his shoulder, he gave the signal to watch closely, hoping Lorence got the idea, somewhat. Nervousness about calm turning into a treacherous storm was simmering out the further he was away, but knew, deeply that his son was teaching him more about patience than the other way around.
