You know that scene at the end of Jerry Maguire – where the little boy hurls the baseball over the fence?
Yeah. That’s my kid. Except substitute shoe and roof for the ball and fence.
Search came running toward me when I arrived at preschool pickup.
“Destroy threw the show. On the roof!”
“Your boys,” sighed their teacher, as she came in to explain the latest incident report.
She had momentarily turned her attention to the rugby scrum dogpile occurring behind her. (Unsurprisingly involving Destroy’s partner in crime, Search.)
Suddenly there was a shout. “SHOE!!!” yelled Bonnie.
“Shoe?” inquired Miss M, suspiciously eying Destroy because when trouble abounds, he’s usually involved.
Following Bonnie’s point, all eyes raised skyward, including the mischievous glee and delight glinting from Destroy. Precariously perched atop the school roof, was a pink shoe.
Seriously? The roof?
“Soo…” I started, trying to compose myself from fits of laughter before chastising the outfielder. “Um, do we owe Bonnie a new pair of shoes?”
“Mr. Randy go on the roof, too!” explained Search, who was clearly enjoying his role as the color commentator. “Destroy throw Bonnie’s shoe. On the roof.” (Translation: Facilities was able to retrieve the wayward sneaker and I am a good boy and did not do what my brother did.)
“We throw baseballs. And ONLY balls,” I chastised. “Do you want to play baseball?”
(Because let’s face it, getting the shoe to the roof actually takes a good arm.) Meanwhile, Jon relayed the incident to his colleagues.
“Bummer dude,” was the response.
“He’s not even 3.”
“Holy crap! That’s awesome!”
His father and I had a chat with him the following morning.
“Do we throw shoes?”
“Noooooo,” gloated a smug Search. “Destroy throw Bonnie’s shoe on the roof.”
Three hours after I dropped him off at school, I got the call. Alas, it was not from a scout.
My precious Destroy had once again demonstrated his athletic capabilities, hurling his lady’s shoe over the 14-foot fence into the neighbors yard.
Thankfully, the chickens that live there did not eat the sparkly pink shoe. The family that lives there returned the footwear along with admiration for my tiny tot’s gun.
Publically the kid’s on the bench; he’s in trouble and we’re going to work on some behavior modification. Privately – I’m seriously impressed.
And really, Bonnie needs to keep her shoes on.