A just reward

We got Bradley a Hot Wheels track. This thing does it all. from an astounding height of 20" the race car drops down a three length track into a double 12" loop and sends the mini vehicle through a plastic barrel and flag off of a jump that no one less than a scale sized professional stunt driver could survive. Of course once you put other cars, books, or a 10 story cat (WRX) in the way, not even the most skilled drivers can out maneuver the obstacles.

Bradley loves playing with his cars and who am I to get in the way of a young boys every whim of the week? I am only half serious of course. the cars thing has gone on for quite some time. It's almost like he was raised in a family that has something to do with cars, or maybe he just saw a movie that had a car in it. He has his favorite cars. one is a Porche Carrera GT and the other is a C5 Corvette. Other than those two I am allowed to play with his cars, but only if I am playing with him. He has kind of a hard time sharing when it comes to some things, but I guess that may be part of the raising an only child thing. I tried to get him interest in the same kind of cars that I want to play, because I become tired of driving a car on my own leg until Bradley scripts that he will crash me and I have to pick another car from the unwrecked ones. of course he follows through with the little play that he has written to the letter and even has dialogue worked out that I have to say in order for the show to go on. I grow tired of saying "Ouch. That hurt." over and over, but he will roll on the ground laughing about the lines that he has written for me. I feel a little like the comic relief for my single three year old audience. I think if his is the only vote that counts I ought to win an award of some sort.

So, the two things that Bradley loves to do with daddy the most has got to be, playing cars and fighting. Just the father son wrestling that every father does with his son at some point or another. you know, son punches dad in the junk and dad falls over on the kitchen floor. I can't help but smile about it later, once my manhood returns to a state of not in pain anymore. though, I sometimes wish that I was wearing a cup so his little fists of fury could get a taste of their own hard plastic medicine. I guess that I have no one to really blame except myself. We have wrestled and rolled around since he was just a littler version of me.?.?.? That didn't quite sound right, but you get the idea.

The whole point of this thing is, I tire of lying on the floor of what ever room he decides to instigate a sudden death cage match. I tried to get him interested in Xbox racing games, but they may be a bit advanced for him still. at least the ones that are more exciting than watching paint dry. The Hot Wheels track could turn into the perfect game. He still gets to play cars and I get to rearrange his track and help crash stuff with less likely hood of getting racked. It seems an odd reward for a death blow to the balls, but he's three. of course, he can only ride that train for so long. Sooner than I really want to think about, he will be four.