Late afternoon, I arrive at Montessouri School to pick up my three-year old son. Seeing the class is on the playground, I start scanning all the little people running around looking for my spawn.
I spy Corwin, but I am confused. The middle of the playground is grounded by a repurposed, large dark oak barrel, framed as the walk through tunnel body of a train engine. This playground was shabby-chic years ahead of its time.
My precious son is on his hands and knees inside the barrel, along with his two best friends, Matt and Travis. The boys are wiping away at the interior floor of the barrel. Armed with the brown, tri-fold rough hand towels from the school’s bathroom, they wipe the old, cracked wood.
I walk up to the headmistress, Ms. Theresa, who is intently supervising their progress (or lack thereof) in this unusual task. She pivots her head, and glares at me as I approach.
She explains, that during afternoon recess, all three boys were caught peeing into the tunnel, using the large round opening as a target. I bite my lip, stifling the urge to laugh in her serious, displeased face.
I suddenly remember a conversation with my husband.
The previous week, the three amigos attended soccer practice and the three dads were supervising that particular evening. The practice field for the three-year-olds at our local YMCA was on the edge of its ten acre property. When the boys needed a bathroom break, the fathers led them to the edge of the field, facing a wooded glade, and instructed them to “Just pee here.”
These suburbia moms never allowed, much less encouraged, our sons to relieve themselves in public, so this was a male bonding milestone for the trio.
As a command performance to their public urination initiation, they enthusiastically spewed large golden arcs into the train barrel.
The suspects, caught mid-stream by Up-Tight Theresa, were separated for questioning. All three said it was Corwin’s idea.
I make a mental note of his leadership aptitude.
The pee squad giggled as they continued cleaning up. Their amusement was not dampened by the consequence of soaking up their collective pee with paper towels.
Picasso said, “Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.” I believe this makes my son a creative genius.
Broken rules are ground zero for great stories.