We had some errands to run yesterday, including returning some items to Sears purchased from Land's End on-line. I figured I could return them to any department, so we parked in the nearest parking space to what I thought was Customer Service, and ran in. Turns out, either I had the wrong store or they've moved Customer Service. I walked into the Tool Department.
I bravely approached a cash register and asked the middle-aged man working nearby if we could do Returns there or if we had to go to a clothing department. He said he'd be happy to take them.
While he was processing the Return, I asked the children to run over and check prices on deck umbrellas. Ours was a casualty of the last bad storm. They ran off to look, then I heard Dane exclaim, "Mama, LOOK!" I looked in the general direction he was pointing and couldn't figure out what held such rapt interest. All I could see was a collection of tools in a rack against the back wall.
"What, son? What are you looking at?"
"The HATCHETS!" he nearly bellowed at me. One eyebrow went up on the man behind the counter.
"Yes? What about them?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
"You could buy me one! Just think of all the things I could do with a hatchet." He was absolutely bubbling over with anticipation. The other eyebrow went up on the salesman.
In my minds eye, I saw Daelyn, armless. Next in front of my eyes flashed a picture of a tattered deck, torn apart by a hatchet. Other pictures flooded to my mind - a treeless yard, a bashed-in back door, holes in the yard . . . you get the idea. A hatchet DID NOT sound like a great idea to me.
My response was swift. "I don't think so, son." Although my tone said "Period", my words must have not been clear, because he asked again.
"But, Mama, I could really use a hatchet."
With a firmer tone, I responded, "NO, son," then glanced sideways at the saleman. He looked away.
About that time, Deanna walked back up with news of deck umbrellas. Without me even noticing, Dane disappeared. The man continued the transaction while Deanna and I discussed umbrella prices and what stores might have the best deal this time of year.
"Mama," Dane's voice again - oh, no, "do you know how much the cheapest hatchet is?"
"No, Dane, and I don't care," I tried to sound stern, although the truth is, I can't blame him. He is a boy, afterall.
"But it's only $6.22!"
"It doesn't matter. You're not getting a hatchet. They're far too dangerous!"
Just as I dared a peek at the saleman again, Dane remarked loudly, "OH, HECK! You won't buy me a gun and now you won't buy me a hatchet!"
My eyes grew big around and my mouth dropped a little. The salesman finally broke and cracked up laughing. I just shook my head.
When Dane saw him laugh, he went into a long explanation. "Mama wants to buy me a B.B. gun . . . "
"and targets for him to shoot at in the backyard . . . " I interjected.
"Yeah. But she's not allowed to in our neighborhood."
"Not to shoot squirrels!" I pointed out.
Deanna squeezed a few words in edgewise, "The first thing Grandpa told him was that he could go up to his house and shoot squirrels!"
"Oh, good GRIEF!" My voice got loud. "No hatchets. And no guns. Not at the ripe old age of 9!"
By this point, I didn't even care what the saleman thought. Then he spoke.
"Do you have your credit card with you, Ma'am? I'll just put this back on your card. By the way, he's all boy, isn't he?"
Now it was my turn to laugh. "Yes, that he is."
And very much like his Grandpa, I thought to myself.
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