There was a time—before Covid, before nine-eleven—when planes were being hijacked and forced to land in an unknown destination. The frequency with which planes were being hijacked was alarming but not of immediate concern to my family. We were involved in trying to find ways to cope with the hot California summer. When temperatures soared into the triple digits, the irritability of my three children, ages two, four, and six, also increased dramatically. On one particularly hot afternoon, I decided that a picnic supper down by the Arroyo and away from our hot house would be a good thing. I packed sandwiches. Then my children and I got into our car and went to get my husband. We waited in the hot car.
When my husband slid behind the wheel, I was prepared. I stuck a frog water pistol into his ribs and said, “This frog is loaded. Do exactly what I say.” And we proceeded to an unknown destination. Following my directions, he drove into the back parking lot of Winchell’s Doughnuts. I handed the frog pistol to my six-year-old son and said, “If he moves—shoot.” I returned to the car with doughnuts and found a wet husband and giggling children.
Many years have passed. New security measures mean that hijacked planes are a thing of the past. The frog water pistol has vanished—lost or broken, I’m not sure which. But the memory of the day we hijacked Dad has remained.
Memory is a tricky thing. We forget the details of big momentous events. And remember little insignificant moments. I never know if the things I choose to do today are the things that will pass the test of time and emerge on the other side as a significant memory in my mind or the mind of someone else. All I can do is choose to be happy, choose to share happiness—and don’t be afraid to be a little tricky sometimes!