That Has Potential
Author © Scott D. Zachary

Mindful of our stalwart aim to bedazzle our most cherished Remi, Mr. Wizzle perpetually scans the realm of possibilities to unearth those unique spins on the mundane that will nurture Remi’s ingenuity and further magnify her always present wonderment. Simply put, my top priority as Remi’s Papaw is to expand our beloved little lady’s horizons in delightful ways.

       One Saturday afternoon in December 2015 is an excellent example of such a spontaneous twirl on the ordinary. Bobbie strolled through the department store aisles, and I tagged along in her wake. I thought we had already purchased all the presents that we planned to give Jonathon (our son), Remi (our six-year-old granddaughter), and Mary (Bobbie’s sister) on Christmas day, so I don’t know why we were there. I just followed along like a good husband. That is until Mr. Wizzle spotted that netted bag containing a mass of multi-colored rubber balls. Mr. Wizzle stopped me abruptly. I didn’t immediately know what he was concocting in my mind; he provided only a glimmer of his fanciful conception. Bobbie stopped to stare at me staring at all those brightly colored, baseball-size balls. There were red ones, green ones, blue ones, orange ones, and yellow ones.

I bellowed Mr. Wizzle’s innuendo, “That has potential!”

“That?” echoed Bobbie.

“I’m not sure exactly yet,” as I retrieved the bag of balls from the shelf and examined them. I read the label. “One hundred balls. Hmmm.” I quickly caught on to Mr. Wizzle’s caper, and by the time we walked out of that store, I knew precisely what shenanigan Mr. Wizzle had in mind.

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       I arrived at Jonathon and Remi’s house on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve 2015, grabbed my backpacks, and began to settle in for the holiday. As I walked through the front door, Remi spouted, “Can I help you bring in your things, Papaw?!”

       “Sure, Remi! How nice of you to offer.” Having endeavored to teach Remi to help others, I was tickled by her volunteering to help me. I wasn’t so pleased when I opened the trunk of my car and spotted the sack of one hundred multi-colored balls.

       “What are all the balls for, Papaw?!”

       I hadn’t planned to tell Remi about my prank, but now I’d cornered myself into telling her. I kneeled down to Remi’s height and looked into her sparkling blue eyes. “Do you know what a practical joke is, Remi?”

       “Kind of.”

       “It’s when you play a joke on someone—not a mean joke, a funny joke. But if you tell anyone, it will spoil the joke. Can you keep a secret?”

       “I can keep a secret, Papaw.”

       “Okay, I’ll tell you about my plan, then.” I pushed her golden locks behind her ear and whispered the details of my caper and how we’d have to prepare the balls before Daddy gets up.

       Remi trotted along beside me toward the front door. “Let’s get up early, Papaw! Let’s get up early!” I had never heard Remi enthuse about getting up early, but she did this time.

       Bobbie arrived soon after I did. We piled her things in the spare bedroom, and the four of us went shopping at a department store. Bobbie and Remi went in the direction of the children’s clothing, Jonathon headed off to get the makings for root beer floats, and I perpetrated delightful mischief.

       I dashed in a roundabout route to ambush Bobbie and Remi. I got down on my hands and knees between the shelves of whatever they were selling. The adults eyeballed me suspiciously. As Remi strolled past my hiding spot, I repeatedly barked like a vicious dog as I scampered on all fours toward her. She recoiled away from my rabid “Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!”

       When Remi realized it was just Papaw, she scolded me. I laughed deliriously, tears of delight streaming. Come to think of it, I never see other papaws playing tag and hide-n-seek with their grandchildren in the grocery and department stores. Perhaps it’s below their dignity. They’ve forgotten how to have fun. Their loss.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       I walked into Remi’s bedroom and approached the igloo-shaped tent in which she was sleeping. “Remi, wake up.”

       She grumbled.

       “Time to wake up, Remi.”

       “I don’t want to get up, Papaw.”

       “It’s time to get the balls out of my trunk,” I whispered.

       “Okay, okay, Papaw! Wait for me!” as she wormed her way backward out of the igloo entrance, her little feet wiggling out from beneath the shrouding tent. Remi scurried alongside me in her nightgown through the living room and headed out the door barefooted. At Grandma’s urging, she trotted back in and put on her slippers and a jacket.

       Remi and I retrieved the sack of 100 multi-colored balls from my car, and Bobbie joined us in our mischievous conspiracy. I grasped Remi by her waist and set her up on the kitchen counter so she could help put the balls in the overhead cabinet. Bobbie helped Remi scoot the bag of sugar and all the other condiments from the right side of the cabinet to the left side, making room for all the balls. Bobbie prepared cardboard ramps so the balls would have the most potential, and she cut cardboard strips from boxes to use as shields to keep the balls in place until we closed the cabinet doors. Remi delighted in putting all the balls behind the shields. As we closed the cabinet door, I slid the cardboard shields out.

       While we waited for Remi’s Daddy to wake up, I made a deal with Remi that she could have a dozen balls if she picked them all up after we played the joke on Daddy. She was all for that, and so was I.

       “What are you going to do with all the other balls, Papaw?”

       “Grandma and I will be shipping the rest of the balls to Nicaragua for our upcoming Christian mission in August. We’re going to give them away to the children down there.”

       “Why?”

       “Many of those children never have a ball to play with.”

       “Really?”

       “That’s right. How many balls do you have, Remi?”

       “I have lots of balls, Papaw.”

       “See how blessed you are?”

       “That’s for sure.”

       Jonathon finally woke up and came stumbling out into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and yawning, totally unaware that he was about to become the stooge for his daughter’s first official practical joke. The plan was for me to ask Jonathon if he had any sugar, but Remi beat me to the punchline. “Daddy, Papaw needs some sugar.”

       “Okay, Babydoll, I’ll get it.” Jonathon shuffled to the overhead cabinet, opened it, and gaped as 100 multi-colored balls greeted him. I expected Jonathon to say something like “What the hell!” Instead, Jonathon just stared into the cabinet as the balls rolled out, and rolled out, and rolled out, bouncing off of him and the counter, veering in every direction.

       Remi coiled on the floor laughing; Bobbie laughed so hard she cried; and I jubilated, “Happy New Year, Jonathon!”

       We laughed and laughed and laughed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

       Want to guess what I found under my pillow and beneath the covers when I went to bed that night? Yep, Remi learned that lesson well.