Unblogging My Brain Part I: Problems with Hurricanes

So my twins had this birthday party last weekend. Which put them in harms way. It put all of their birthday guests in harms way.

You just never know when twelve twelve year old's jumping on a trampoline simultaneously might end in a trip to the ER.

And you just never know when twelve twelve year-old's engaging in a massive air soft war might put someone's eye out.

(I've seen A Christmas Story.)

Fortunately we took proper safety precautions and danger was averted.

Until we were inside the house opening presents.

See I'm the kind of irresponsible mom who allows her kids to engage with bite size candy bars without wearing safety goggles.

I underestimated the damage that can be done when twelve twelve-year-olds begin launching Baby Ruth bars at each other projectile style, within short range.

Yes, there were tears. And fears.

Fortunately in the end, all twelve twelve-year-olds left the party with their eyes intact.

There's a moral here. There's a definite moral. And it's best spelled out through this funny, yet poignant poem I used to teach called Problems with Hurricanes by Victor Hernandez Cruz:

A campesino looked at the air and told me:
With hurricanes it's not the wind
or the noise or the water.
I'll tell you he said:
it's the mangoes, avocados,
Green plantains and bananas
flying into town like projectiles.

How would your family feel if
they had to tell The generations
that you got killed by a flying banana?

Death by drowning has honor.
If the wind picked you up and slammed you
Against a mountain boulder
This would not carry shame
But to suffer a mango smashing
Your skull or a plantain hitting your
Temple at 70 miles per hour is the ultimate disgrace.

The campesino takes off his hat—
As a sign of respect toward the fury of the wind
And says:
Don't worry about the noise
Don't worry about the water
Don't worry about the wind—
If you are going out, beware of mangoes
And all such beautiful sweet things.



Ain't that just like life?  Sometimes you have to sweat the small stuff.