Protection

The Bear, the Princess, and the Hearing Aid

Papa Bear doted on his only daughter, Princess Bear, who was not only beautiful, but sweet, gentle, and wise.  He adored her, trying hard to give her all she needed for a good life.  He rocked her, ran behind her on her bicycle to catch her, lest she fall, dried her tears, and brushed her long, curly fur, never tugging at tangles.  He tucked her in at night, dreading the day she’d leave his cave.

One day, his lovely Princess Bear ventured out into the wood.  Young bears started to coming to pay court to her.  Papa Bear asked, “Please bring your friends home to meet me.”  Of course, she didn’t really care for the idea, but since she loved Papa Bear, and he was so kind, she did as he asked.

One evening, she brought yet another young bear to the cave to meet Papa Bear.  “Pleased to meet you, Sir.  I’ll have her home by eleven.”  He said in an extraordinarily nicey, nice bear voice.

“Grrrrr.”  said Papa Bear.  “I’ll be waiting for you at nine-thirty.” They were home at nine-twenty eight.

“I didn’t really like him,” said the Princess Bear the next morning.  “Something about him was a unbearable.”

“Oh, well,” said Papa Bear.  “Sometimes that just happens.”

In a few minutes, there was a knock at the cave door.  “I don’t want to see you again.  Don’t call on me anymore.”  Princess Bear closed the door.

Seconds later, a second knock sounded.  “I told you.  I don’t want to see you again!”  Papa Bear was right behind his little Princess, not the sound of any of it.

He asked her, “Is that young bear bothering you?  At her nod, he stepped from behind her, speaking to the pushy young bear, quite gruffly.  “Princess Bear doesn’t ever want to see you or speak to you again.  Now, if you’re having trouble understanding that, I’ll be happy to meet you in the woods and explain it!”

The young bear understood Papa Bear perfectly.   He had just needed a hearing aid.

Night Terror

My young John’s imagination was wild.  All through the day he was a superhero vanquishing monsters and besting villains, feared by evil-doers, all.  Sadly, even superheroes have to sleep in the dark. When he was quiet abed, he could feel them creeping out of the shadows, coming for him. Every night, I kissed him, tucked him in, and checked under the bed and in the closet to show him there were no monsters.  

Switching off the light, I’d leave the door ajar.  Soon the light would flip on and I’d hear,a little voice at my ear. ”Mommy, I’m scared.”

Back  to bed we’d go,  me assuring assuring him there was nothing hiding in the dark.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.  After a few trips, I’d enlist Bud’s help.  Eventually, fatigue would overtake his fear and he’d drift off.  

I’ve never been a good sleeper. Every time I awoke, I’d peek in on the kids to make sure they were covered and cozy.  One memorable night as I tiptoed in to check on John my toes squished in something cold and wet, not a good feeling for a dog or cat owner.  

“Crap!” I said, an expletive and likely description of what was squished up between my toes.  I hobbled on my heel, toes in the air, driving a spire into the heel of my other foot.  Dropping to my knees, I landed on a firetruck. Even in my agony, It was identifiable as a fire truck by the siren and flashing lights.

By this time, John was screaming in terror at the invading monster. Bud stormed to the rescue, flipped on the light, ready for action, only to find me me on the floor, PlayDo between my toes with a jack stuck in my heel.

It turns out, my adventurous  son had gotten up and constructed traps for monsters about his room. PlayDo  mounds were scattered about the carpeted floor.  Metal jacks, cars, trucks, and all manner of wheeled toys encircled his bed.

Only a winged assailant could have gotten to him.  Needless to say, it took a while to figure out what was going on and get the terrified little boy settled back in.  

My throbbing foot kept me company till morning.