The Pusher

Many areas of the U.S. weathered quite a heat wave this weekend.  This past Saturday in Ohio, temps climbed to a mind-numbing 105 degrees.  Like many parents of young children, this somewhat limits our options for weekend activity; park visits or sprinkler fun look a little less inviting when you layer in the heat-stroke possibility.  However, being cooped up in the house with a six-year-old who’s full of energy and climbing the walls isn’t particularly appealing, either.  Solution?  Play place at the mall, of course!

The play area at the mall closest to us is set up to resemble the solar system.  There’s a mock space ship to sit inside, planets to climb on and around, as well as plenty of room to run.  When we arrived I was relieved to find that it wasn’t quite as crowded as I had expected, especially given the weather outside.  There are only so many seats around the perimeter, and they’re prime property and go fast.  I wound up sitting next to a father who appeared to be fairly near my own age, and settled in while my daughter happily sprinted off.  The father next to me was busy laughing with his son, who looked to be maybe eight or nine years old.  I had my head turned away from them when I heard a really loud *thwump* sound, and turned to see what it was.  The son was lying on the ground with a grin on his face.  Initially I thought the boy had fallen (frequent occurrence in the play area) and, since he appeared unharmed, I didn’t think much of it.

I turned my attention back to locating my daughter (which is basically my full-time occupation on these occasions – there she is!  Wait; lost her.  There she is!  Oh, lost her again…there she is! – and on it goes…), until I heard it again, *thwump*.  Same boy, same fall, same location; right in front of me and his dad.  It seemed odd, so this time I kept looking.  The boy was laughing while he got up, and then he said, “Again!”

At this point, his father proceeded to basically push him to the ground.  (Okay, maybe push is an understatement; shove may be more accurate.)  *thwump*  The boy, lying flat on the ground, erupted in hilarity, then got up again and asked for more.  This continued for a good twenty minutes, to my amazement, and I tried not to stare.  I have to say, it’s quite distracting trying to locate your child when another youngster is being throttled to the floor right next to you.

*thwump*

“Again, Dad, do it medium this time!”

*thwump*

(Wait, there are different speeds?  Can he breathe down there?)

*thwump*

“Hahahahahaha!  Do it again!!”

*thwump*

(Shoot; where did she go this time??  “Hey, no hair pulling, girls!”)

*thwump*

(Seriously, is this really safe?  Minor organ damage, perhaps?)

*thwump*

“Awesome!  Good one, Dad!  Hahaha!”

*thwump*

(Good grief!  What is this, linebacker training?)

*thwump*

And on, and on it went.  I kept looking around to see if anyone else was as uncomfortable as I was by this roughhouse recreation.  I mean clearly, the boy thought it was fantastically fun and the father was happy to play along.  But I couldn’t shake my unease at the forcefulness of the interplay, nor my relief when they finally packed it in for the day and proceeded on their merry pusher/pushee way to greener, air-conditioned pastures.

Talking later to my husband about it, he explained it was really just a sort of father/son male-bonding.  Sort of when guys take turns slugging each other in the arm or stomach to see who can take it better, or jump up and slam their chests together to see if they can make each other pass out.  (Quick note: these rituals sound just as ridiculous as the shoving game, so the logic was a bit lost on me, but I digress…)  He shared that it’s just the way guys sometimes relate, and that it probably made me more uncomfortable than anyone else (well, save for maybe some other mothers in the area).

Interesting observations for an afternoon fleeing the heat.  I think I’ll keep my ‘pushing’ limited to the swings at the park, thank you just the same.