Super Dad

Bodhi’s school fete was on Saturday. We wandered up and meandered through the surprisingly well organised festivities. Stalls, rides, music, food, competitions and fantastic organisation all round. While Bodhi was wriggling his way through the obstacle laden bowels of a large inflatable caterpillar, I spied that most leveling of manly pursuits – The sideshow alley Strongman Hammer challenge (bang the mallet down, hit the bell). Several stout, stocky fathers had failed in their attempts to ding the bell atop the pole, which had made a small crowd gather round. It wasn’t so much their failure but the look of utter defeat in their child’s eyes immediately afterward that stayed with me.

How hard could it be I thought, as Bodhi and I wandered hand-in-hand over to the growing crowd? Deceptive no doubt, but It looked simple enough. Still, those strongarm dads before me had been found severely wanting. Their hits barely registered a “Modest” rating (between the “Passable” and “Tell him he’s dreaming” marks). Parting the crowd, I handed over my entry fee.

With the long handled mallet in hand, I looked down at Bodhi, smugly winked, rocked back, swung and gave it an almighty whack. The lead tracer shot up, passed “Passable” on its way to “Thunder God” but fell breathtakingly short of the ultimate mark before hurtling back to the ground carrying the hopes of my adoring son with it. Shit, I thought. I gave that one hell of a crack and still fell short. I looked down to my side. Bodhi, concern writ large on his innocent features, burned through my soul.

I resolved there and then that I wasn’t going to be just another fundraising statistic. The ring master quieted the surging crowd, pleaded with them, move back…give space. I gripped the handle for the second of my two swings. My sinuous forearms, honed through countless weekends of seemingly endless hammering, digging, painting, wax-on-wax-off laborious toil, steeled themselves for effect. As I raised the mighty mallet, just moments ago much lighter but now carrying the overbearing weight of expectation, the crowd hushed…. I swung. Momentum lifting me clean off the ground…Impact…A thunder clap…All eyes tracked upward following the tracer as it raced along its track, skyward, like a firecracker through the night.

The rest is history they say. But as I looked down at my little boy and winked, there was no smugness, just two little eyes, looking up in pure adoration. Cometh the hour, Cometh the Dad.

Minas.