Listening

Leta is reading a book in her room after school. Side note: on a recent trip to the library she checked out six books and read all of them within two days. Yes, I’m bragging. Wanna arm wrestle? You’ll probably beat me, but that doesn’t matter. Because my kid is still a better reader than you.

Suddenly she hears whistling outside her door, so she jumps off of her bed and pokes her head into the hallway. No one is there so she returns to her book. Had this been me, I would have taken my book into the hallway, found the whistling culprit (Tyrant, he who whistles as much as he breathes, he who whistles off key, he who whistles random, senseless notes that resemble no song ever written because he knows it’ll get into your brain and nibble on critical synapses), and smacked him in the head. And it wouldn’t have been illegal because no judge on earth is going to side with a whistler.

Leta hasn’t lived enough life to consider violence as an option, although one day we will have that discussion: 1) attack if you feel like your life is in danger, 2) attack if you feel like someone else’s life is in danger, and finally 3) attack anyone blowing air through their lips.

She again hears whistling in the hallway, so she gets up to inspect. She sees no one and returns to her book. This scenario repeats itself six or seven times. You’ve got to admire that kind of patience. I mean, that’s six or seven times too many. I’m as liberal as you can get when it comes to gun rights, but if someone is going to menace my child with whistling I don’t see anything wrong with owning a machete.

Oh my god, people are going to take me seriously, aren’t they? You guys, I would never harm a whistler. I might hire someone to, but I’d totally cover my tracks, okay?

Finally, after an eighth encounter with this indiscriminate whistling, Leta ventures out into the hallway to figure out what’s going on. This is what Tyrant has been waiting for all along, and he abruptly jumps out from behind a wall and roars. You know what? Roar all you want, dude. Meow. Bray. Imitate a hyena. Burp the alphabet. BECAUSE THEN YOUR MOUTH CANNOT BE USED FOR WHISTLING.

Leta doesn’t flinch. In fact, she just stands there blinking her eyes.

“Did I scare you?” Tyrant asks, confused. I mean, she is my daughter. And all he has to do is imagine the word SPIDER while standing next to me and I will scream while seeking shelter underneath the couch.

“No,” she answers. “But you did ANNOY me.”

Don’t worry. I high-fived her on behalf of all of us.