Every morning, I drive my 12-year-old son Thomas to middle school. He sits in the front seat with me. He keeps his weighty backpack in the backseat.
When we get to the school, he gets out of the car, shuts his door, and opens the door to the backseat to reach for his backpack.
That’s when I reach over the front seat and grab one of the backpack straps. When he pulls on the backpack, it doesn’t move.
A tug of war ensues.
This is a little embarrassing for him because he’s in junior high and we’re right next to the central quad where all the “cool” kids hang out before school. So while they do whatever it is “cool” kids do, Tom’s playing tug-of-war with his dad.
Today I made a point of holding on to the strap longer, to the point where he was about to give up on the backpack altogether. I call it my “death grip extraordinaire.”
That’s when I heard the car horns. A lot of them.
I looked back. We were holding up a huge line of cars. Cars filled with parents trying to drop their kids off at school.
I can only wonder what these parents behind me we’re thinking as I maintained my death grip on Tom’s backpack.
Actually, I can do more than wonder, because I could see their faces in my rear-view mirror. And they were not big fans of tug-of-war.
That’s too bad, because the Olympics begin tonight, and you’d think the thrill of athletic competition would be in the air.