Charlie the Archer
Today when I picked up my son, Conor, and his friend, Jared, from their outdoor adventure camp, all they wanted to talk about was this cool guy, Charlie. In addition to being a general camp counselor, Charlie was the archery instructor at the camp. He hunted and he was from Alabama, which made him talk funny, and he was 21 years old and he knew all about shooting bows and he had three different kinds of bows, including a crossbow, and he could hit a bull's-eye every time. It all came bubbling out from the back seat of the car.
I listened intently for as long as I could and then turned my attention to finding some music on the radio. The boys continued to talk to each other about Charlie. I tuned out. Until I heard this comment from my son.
“I think Charlie would make a really cool Dad.”
Jared agreed. The boys couldn’t understand why Charlie wasn’t already a dad. He was 21 years old. Practically geezing.
So my boy was now sizing up other guys for the role of Dad. That caught me off guard. I turned off the radio and tuned back into the conversation in the back seat.
“Did you see how strong Charlie was? He was throwing all the kids up in the air at the pool.”
“Yeah, he has huge muscles in his arms.”
“He’s got a tattoo on his back.”
“I saw it. And he knows a lot of stuff.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Suddenly, it became clear to me that something would have to be done about this Charlie guy. I would not stand by and watch him steal my boy away. If need be there would be a showdown at adventure camp. I would meet him on his own turf. Out on the archery field. Just before he was about to take a shot I would step out in front of the target. The children would gasp thinking that I would be shot. After all, Charlie never misses his spot. It would be too late for Charlie to stop. The arrow would fly. In a move right out of the Lord of the Rings, I would reach up and grab the shaft of the arrow in mid-air. The children would be amazed. I would drop the arrow to the ground. Slowly, I would reach into my pocket. Charlie would panic thinking I had a gun. I would pull out a yo-yo. Not just any yo-yo, but a bright red Duncan Avenger yo-yo. “So, Charlie,” I would say, “if you’re so special, let me see you do this.” Then I would put on a dazzling display with the yo-yo, performing many tricks that I think I can learn between now and the showdown. When it was all over, the children would rush over to me and hug me and try to carry me on their shoulders. But they are only 9 years old and I weigh too much. We would tumble down. Several children would have to go to the infirmary. But all the children would think I was great. And Charlie? Well, Charlie would just disappear. Nobody would know where he went, except the camp accountant who would send him his final pay check because Charlie would no longer be working in this town…
Right about at this point in my fantasy, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Conor’s.
“Dad, I love you. And I think you’re the best father in the world.”
“Why thank you, Conor. And I love you, too. What brings that up?”
“I don’t want you to think that I like Charlie more than I like you.”
“I wasn’t thinking any such thing. Why would I think that?”
“I just didn’t want you to. That’s all.”
Okay, Charlie. You’re off the hook. For now. But you better watch yourself. Remember, I’ve got a yo-yo. Well, I don’t have a yo-yo, but I’m going to get one. Tomorrow. And I’m going to start practicing immediately. Then you’ll see why I’m top dad around here.
10:42:50 PM  Stories
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