A friend of mine I hadn’t seen in years came by for a visit recently.  He came with his wife and two kids.  This story is about the youngest one…cute, little Tyler.

Now, if you don’t know, I tend to lean towards the sarcastic side.  So in reality using the word “cute” to describe this little shit is akin to seeing Bin Laden hanging out in the New York Subway system carrying a briefcase with a nuclear symbol on it.  “Oooooo!  Look at the bearded man with the nuke, mumbling to himself about 72 virgins!  How cute!!!”

Yeah…that’s Tyler.

From the minute this kid arrived I knew there would be trouble.  He stormed out of his parent's car, dropped his soccer ball in the driveway, and immediately eyed our garage doors.  Some type of parental instinct took over and I glared at the little hellion with a look that said “Kick that ball at my garage door and I’ll deflate it…with your face”.

He got the message, and from that point on our private battle raged.

Over the next two hours I aged two years.  I could feel my hair turning gray with every Tyler incident.  Tyler completely ignored all of us and disappeared around the side of the house with his soccer ball.  While I shook my friend’s hand and gave him a hug, I heard the distinct thud of a ball hitting the side of our house.  The side with two windows.

Within less than five minutes I was already plotting little Tyler’s death.  Seriously, I was trying to think of what kind of “accident” could befall the twit.

Mind you, the parents are the real culprits here, and I know that.  But in reality it came down to my friend’s wife, an iceberg of a woman who could break a sweat raising her finger (so therefore she never did).  Unless of course it was to begin an hour-long diatribe about something inane.  She would always begin these sessions by raising her finger high in the air, risking cardiac arrest no doubt.  But when it came to keeping an eye on Tyler, the extent of her involvement was to say to my friend “Mike, what’s Tyler doing?”

I felt like shouting, “Ooo!  Ooo!  I know the answer to this one!  Is it ‘Destroying the old shingles on the side of my house?’”

Next little Tyler came into the house.  I heard the front door open (we were in the kitchen around the corner).  Then I realized Tyler never showed up.  So I peered around the corner (neither parent bothered), and I observed the front door…wide open.  This would be a Tyler Trait.  Tyler does not have the slightest idea on how to close things.  He only knows how to open them.

Speaking of opening things, after I discovered the front door open, I then realized our bedroom door was open.  And guess who was inside, poking around in all our stuff just as you please?

Apparently I finally got the attention of my friend, who came around the corner as well and called little Tyler away from checking out our intimates.  And what did Mommy say?  “Oh, he’s like that.  He’s got such great curiosity.  He’ll roam around and check out everything.”

The thing that got me was the way she said this, like it was all cute and harmless.  I paused briefly at this, and then cursed myself for buying those “safe” mousetraps…the ones that aren’t fully exposed.  What little Tyler needed was a good, old-fashioned 3-pound spring trap, followed by a quick run to the ER.

Yup, my brain was a workin’…

During Tyler’s brief stay he did all of the following, and more:

- Wandered through everything we owned, picking up object after object, inspecting it, then leaving it where he saw fit.
- Sat on top of our little spa cover (the one NOT designed to hold any weight), while his legs kicked the side.
- Took off his shoes and started to enter our backyard pond (we’re actually missing a fish ever since his visit, and I swear it was his fault).
- Snapped off a large branch from one of our blueberry bushes (so long blueberries).
- Snapped off another large branch from our butterfly bush (oh, how I wish butterflies attacked)
- Drove my dog absolutely crazy.
- Interrupted any and all attempts at conversation that my friend and I tried.

This is just a sampling.  Finally, I decided to start a campfire.  I figured it would distract him, and at least keep him focused in one spot where I could watch him.  It seemed to be working, except fire turned Tyler into more of a monster than he was already.  The fire became HIS fire.  And his favorite way to tend it?  It was to throw anything and everything that would burn into it.  And I do mean throw, as I found out when a large stick went hurtling past my shins (Tyler isn’t an accurate thrower).

I could feel a special moment coming on rapidly…me, Tyler, and a 1,000 yard roll of duct tape…

For days after Tyler left we found evidence of his stay, mostly in the form of dislodged things.  Sticks and branches were strewn all over the place (Tyler would run away to “round up” wood to burn).  It was especially touching when he stood in front of the fire and began screaming for more stuff to burn.

In a way I feel a little bit of gratification, because maybe by exposing Tyler to the power of fire I may have in fact created a monster.  And as much as I like my friend, I sleep a little better at night wondering if little Tyler often harasses him and his excuse for a wife about creating a fire of their own.  Too bad their local laws prohibit it…

• Is that your squishy?  Where’s your squishy?  Is this your squishy?  Issssss this your squishy?
  
• Who’s our little monster?  Are you our little monster?  Is you our widdle monster?
  
• La la la la la la la … (accompanied by dual-clapping)
  
• Vroom!  Vroom!  Is that the plane flying?  Here we go!  Vroom!  Vroom! 
  
• Dad in total ga-ga mode doing nothing but humming ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
  
• Booooooooooooo ba-la-la-la-la.  Boooooooooooo ba-la-la-la.
  
• Where’s your nose Monster?  Is that your nose?  Is that your nose?  Blow Monster…get those boogers out.  Ooooohhh, look at that!  Way to blow Monster!
  

Perhaps my favorite was when Dad kept asking ‘Monster’ if he remembers the last time they flew, to DC.  The kid had barely moved beyond Drooling 101, let alone talk.  I doubt he remembered five minutes ago, and yet we all got to listen to Dad asking Junior if he remembers the time they flew to the capitol.  I should have known this guy was trouble…he was wearing sandals…with white socks.

Oh, and when the guy wasn’t cooing at his son, he would fill in the silence with spontaneous whistling.  He also was one of those types who asks for stupid things, like he wanted a buttload of cream.  The flight attendant was a trooper, especially when he said she reminded him of Elvis.  I’m like, “Elvis?  Was it the sideburns?  Or was he calling her fat?”  Somehow I think that was a first for her.

The last note about the flight is about the guy behind us.  He must have been one tired puppy as he was pretty much asleep even before takeoff.  The deal was that he snored.  But this wasn’t just any snore.  This guy had actually mastered the Shemp Snore.  Swear to God…the best part was the way his lips would ripple when he exhaled.  “Zzzzzzzzzzz", followed quickly by "dwee-dwee-dwee-dwee -dwee".  Luckily he only did that once or twice!