We are currently visiting the boys’ grandma in beautiful Morro Bay, California. (Town motto: Come for the clam chowder, stay for the prohibitively excessive real estate prices!)
Our three boys have grown up visiting their grandparents here, playing at the beach and spending time with their cousins and their Uncle Jay. It has been almost four years since their Grandpa Dick passed away, and we recently traveled with grandma and Uncle Jay up to Alaska, where we spread the remainder of his ashes in the ocean where he loved to fish. (Don’t tell anyone we did that, though, because I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, and we didn’t have any permits.)
With both families back in Morro Bay visiting and reminiscing about the good times with Grandpa Dick, one of my favorite stories surfaced.
Six years ago, we were visiting here and had just finished up lunch at our favorite wharf-side restaurant. We were heading back to the car and my wife had Son Number One’s hand, who was seven years old at the time.
She saw an opening in the traffic, so she hurried him across the street in the middle of the block. He was resistant to go with her, tugging backward, and in the middle of the street, voiced his concern.
Son Number One: Mom, we’re dick walking!
[record scratch. Mom comes to a complete stop in the middle of the street]
Mom: Excuse me?? What did you say?
Number One: We’re dick walking. Why are we dick walking? We’re not supposed to.
Number One: Shouldn’t we get out of the street?
Number One: What?
Mom: …… Oh!!!! Do you mean jay walking?
Number One: Oh, yeah, sorry. Jay walking. That’s what I meant. We shouldn’t do that.
[sound of mom laughing so hard she very nearly pees her pants in the middle of the street]
I’m not sure what it says about his opinion of his mom’s family’s moral character, but our oldest son had been told the term for a pedestrian traffic violation and assumed it was named after his uncle. Then somewhere along the way, his unruly little seven-year-old brain mixed up father and son, and attributed the offense to his grandpa instead.
The result was pretty darn humorous, and something Son Number One will never live down. He probably wishes he’d mixed it up with his other grandpa instead, then he wouldn’t still be hearing about it. Dave walking isn’t nearly as funny.
We miss you, Grandpa Dick! Glad you got to make it back to Alaska one last time, even if we had to bend or ignore a few rules to do it.
Why our sons would associate us with law-breaking activities continues to be a mystery.
See you soon,
Copyright © 2018 Marc Schmatjen
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