The other day we were playing outside when the sky went dark
and the rain came pounding. It was a downpour, the kind that’s typical
in Virginia after a day of high temps and humidity. Simon and I watched as
gushing rapids washed down the curb, carrying leaves and sticks and whatever
stood in its way. Suddenly, I had an idea.
I wanted to make a boat.
No, I didn’t want to go build an ark in the backyard. I
wanted to take a sheet of paper and fold it into a boat and watch it float down
the street. He was all about it. There was just one problem.
I didn’t know how to make a paper boat.
I knew how to make a paper airplane, but boats? Nope. I
tried different folds, racing the clock as the sun threatened to return and the
rainwater went from gush to trickle. I folded and creased, but all I came up with were wads of nothing. One after another, I hurried through one crumple to the next, using—ahem—an old manuscript I’d been saving to
light our next fire pit.
Nothing. I had nothing. We tried some lopsided catastrophe that turned
out to be a much better submarine than boat. Paper submarines. I was great at
those.
The rain let up. Our floodwaters receded. My son lost
interest.
Never again. I vowed to be prepared. The next day, on my lunch break. I Youtubed like a mother. I
worked out the kinks (folds) and became a master boat builder. Okay, maybe a
decent boat builder. Either way, people stopped by my desk to find a man making
paper boats like a boss.
That’s right. I spent my lunch break making paper boats.
This may seem like the work of an idle man with plenty of
time on his hands. But no, I want my kid to know certain things, Boy Scout
stuff. Everything in The Dangerous Book For Boys. Both simple and complicated. Making a paper boat was one of those
things.
So now we just need some rain, but in the meantime, we have
a bathtub, so…
