Check it, bra!
Over the last few months, Lance Mannion and I have exchanged some pretty amusing sallies on the Matter of the Chainsaw. Lance is ambivalent on the question of chainsaw ownership, citing tiresome bourgeois concerns over health and safety, the usual white-boy, blue-state, kid-gloves-in-church handwringing gabble. I, on the other hand, enthusiastically endorse the adoption of the Chainsaw in all aspects of life, with the ardor usually displayed by the most doctrinaire of NRA acolytes. Chainsaws don't rip defenseless inanimate objects to shit in an eyeblink -- people do.
That pic up there, that's people -- yours truly, to be exact -- this morning, taking the fight to an Unwanted Inanimate Object in my back yard. Sure, I could have carefully unscrewed each carriage bolt with my ratchet wrench, no doubt. I could have politely undone each 8-penny nail with a crowbar, carefully disassembled the thing down to its component parts... But instead I reduced it to flinders in about three minutes.
YA -- and may I add, HOO!
When we bought it, the grounds of Jingo Acres were configured for the amusement of kids considerably younger than Betty and Freddie, and the jungle-gym/slide thing being demolished in the above photo held no fascination for my young teens. It gathered dust for a year while Freddie hatched dreams.
He was a serious skateboardist and rollerbladificationizer when we came to Dirt-Road Country. One of the only sources of regret for me when I moved us out here was the sight of him tooling morosely around the garage -- the only place for miles with a surface smooth enough to allow a skateboard's wheels to roll. It was indescribably sad. I questioned my humanity.
Not long ago he found some plans on the Internet that showed how to build a halfpipe. It took pretty much no effort on his part to get me to agree to a father-son project that would replace that unused slide/jungle gym with a really-o, truly-o, no-shit, serious skater's halfpipe. I was Stoked.
And yes, at this point, I will pause to allow your accolades to wash over me. Perhaps I will even fold my arms and nod with my chin jutting out, like Benito Mussolini. Yes, I wholeheartedly agree with you. I am in fact the World's Coolest Dad. I simply cannot gainsay the groundswell of approval.
So that's what we're doing. After tearing down the jungle-gym and carting it to the dump, which we did today, we'll begin on Step One of the plans tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to it.
It sounds like Disgusting Daddery, I fully realize, but I tell you with complete sincerity: Freddie's without question one of my coolest friends. I can't tell you how utterly destroyed I am when we catch each other's eye and laugh without reserve, holding our guts in, at The Simpsons: Sweet merciful heavens! I did something right!
You need to hear more about him. And you will.
Here's an overview of the area where we're putting the thing up:
I'll keep you updated.