Just Like a Walk in the Park

Yesterday, I took my kids for a walk in a nearby state park. Just before we left, they made a frantic call to the Child Abuse Hotline, and were devastated to learn that this was NOT a felony.

It’s not that my kids mind being outside. It’s just that in a state park, they’re sooooo faaaarrrrr outside: ice cream trucks can’t be heard; their iPods are in constant danger of getting dirty; and, worst of all, I’m often within 13 feet of their personal space.

Turns out that, except for the personal space thing, most of these problems didn’t exist in the state park we visited. It’s actually wedged into the middle of a nearby suburb. Wild, it’s not. It’s bordered by a convent, a golf course, a busy street, and a subdivision, from which emanated the maddeningly repetitious song of an ice cream truck.

The park does have some outdoorsy features: a creek, trees, and grass, with swaths mowed short to serve as “trails.” We were strolling one of these when we spotted something wild and exotic: strips of safety-yellow “Caution” tape. It was wrapped around a rickety old gazebo that apparently belonged to the convent. The boys sized the structure up and, showing their daredevil streaks, each one begged me to, “Please, please, puh-LEEZ!” let him push his brothers inside it to see if it would fall down.

Further down the path, we came to a low spot in the trail had been soaked by heavy rain a couple days before and was still a gooey pit of muck. They poked it with sticks to verify that it was high-quality mud, then started jumping back and forth over it. They were having a grand old time, but decided to move on after I wouldn’t let them “Please, please, puh-LEEZ!” push me into it.

A bit further on, we glimpsed a narrow trail snaking through a woody area along the creek’s edge. This was more like it! Now we’d have a chance to commune with unmanicured nature! We charged down this path and within 10 to 15 minutes we’d traveled deep into the woods, probably four, maybe even, five yards.

The problem was No. 4 son thought every plant within 13 feet of his personal space was poison ivy. In spite of the vast outdoor knowledge I’ve acquired from years of watching PBS nature shows, I was unable to convince him that none of the trailside greenery was poisonous. So I had to bend, break or hold back any “suspicious-looking” plants until we finally came to the trail’s end and strolled back onto the mowed walking paths.

At this point, everyone’s mood was still pretty good, so I decided to head home before anything ruined it, such as me saying, “Wasn’t that more fun than your inane video games?”

Over dinner, we shared our exciting experiences with my wife. She thoroughly enjoyed hearing them. Well, except for my most memorable experience, which ended with me begging her to “Please, please puh-LEEZ!” put chamomile lotion on the poison ivy all over my body.

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