My son is a talented filmmaker who frequently recruits family members to aid and abet him in his hilarious endeavors. Today, it was my turn to help on his short film about pogo-sticking. (Or is it just pogoing?) I was the taxi to the park, the hitter of the power button on the camera and the holder of the pogo stick during set up. We were a great two-man crew...well, crew-man and crew-mom crew. At least I thought it was just the two of us. But when my son went way, way down the hill for me to film (is that even a word anymore?) him running up the hill, I realized I was not alone.
Ohhhhhhhhhhh. (I heard a distinct moaning to my left. I thought maybe a jogger had fallen, so I quickly turned to see if I could help.)
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. (No jogger. It was definitely the pogo stick.)
Oh my gosh. Are you okay?
Ohhhhhhhhhh. My foot is killing me. (The poor thing sounded so frail and weak, I could barely hear what he was saying. I leaned a little closer.)
I think he's almost done. It shouldn't be much longer now. (Why I was whispering was a mystery to me.)
Why, oh why, did he have to find me in the garage? I was so happy behind that crushed cardboard lemonade stand. (He sighed heavily.) But, no...time to clean the garage for the winter. It's all your fault, you know. Do you really have to put your car in the garage in the winter?
Um. Yes, I do. I don't have time in the morning to scrape my windows and stuff. I'm really sorry.
Oh well. It's too late now, anyway. He's found me. Ohhhhhhhhh...my poor aching foot. It's throbbing.
I called to my son to ask if this was the last shot. I relayed the good news to the pogo stick.
Oh, thank goodness. Maybe he'll just put me back and I can recuperate in peace and quiet.
We finished up and I gently placed the poor pogo stick on the back seat. As we were pulling out onto the main road, my son suddenly realized he had forgotten one important shot and asked me to go back into the park. I glanced into my rearview mirror, and I'm almost positive I saw the pogo stick shudder.