Towel Bar Trauma 3 – The three-quel

towelbar_3I predicted IT would happen. I never doubted that once it happened it would happen again and maybe again after that. I knew with equal certainty that the sun would rise in the East and I’d retell the towel bar tale. I didn’t predict when, but I knew beyond doubt it would happen. But how did I know? Am I clairvoyant? brilliant? insightful? Nostradamus? lucky? No, none of the above, but I knew it would happen because I remember what it’s like to be a kid.

Faithful blog followers remember the first and second towel bar trauma. The third trauma involved the same characters and similar circumstances.

I was cleaning glue globs and errant marker (the aftermath of the prodigy’s homemade turtle designed for our hound who will celebrate her first birthday this month) off the hobby table when I heard a disturbing crash. It came from the bathroom. I hate bathroom crashes because loud noises in the bathroom are never good news. They usually involve injury and at the very least an expensive repair. But at least you’re close to the first aid kit. Anyway, after the crash I cringed and listened for a distress call, but instead heard a reluctant, “uh-oh”.

I hesitantly asked, “What happened?”.

The meek voice bravely responded, “Part of the towel bar fell down.”

I thought, “Part of the towel bar? What the –?”

I dashed to the bathroom and deja vu, I witnessed a familiar scene… a red-faced, bare-butt kid and a dangling towel bar.

I remembered this scene before so I skipped the formalities and went right to the cause. I asked, “Did you touch it?”

Through clinched lips, he said, “I – might – have.”

I’ve heard when you experience a traumatic event you may forget it happened. Maybe that explains the prodigy’s amnesia.

I asked, “How!?”

“I didn’t think my arm would reach that far”, he responded.

I can only imagine the look on my face. I was speechless, so I retrieved a hex wrench and reattached the limping apparatus that has one function, but has been used in many ways leading to its third reincarnation.

While I repaired the carnage, he bombarded me with questions such as “Why do we need a towel bar? “Can we leave it on the floor?” “Why did you put it there?” “Can you get a stronger one?” “Why do we need a towel?” He might have asked “Where do babies come from?” but I was too distracted trying to maneuver the wrong-sized hex wrench into a blind hole.

I grumbled and lectured, but it’s for naught because this towel bar repair ritual is a continual and integral part of our lives. I will repeatedly repair that towel bar as long as I have an excitable young-ling. I predict it will happen again — either in this generation or the next.