I don’t know whether to be proud of this or embarrassed, so I’m just going to think glass half-full.

As a teenager, I worked at a little supermarket in my neighborhood.  It was my dojo.  Kind of like the Karate Kid movie (the real one) where Ralph Macchio was washing cars and learning Karate. I, on the other hand, was honing my martial art techniques by bagging groceries.

Left hand cups the canned vegetables, right hand palms the lettuce.  Make eye contact with customer.  Is she going to tip me?  No?  Lettuce to the bottom of the grocery bag and canned vegetables directly on top.  Repeat with avocados and canned beans coming down the conveyor.  This time, eyes closed.

With this intense supermarket training, I was able to sharpen my hand speed and coordination.  By the end of my 2 years there, I was able to make the bagels on aisle 10 crumble to the ground with only a glancing blow.

Young student says “Master, when will I know that I’m done here?”
Old master replies “When you are no longer pink in the middle.”

Little did I know, that 20 years later, I still maintained my supermarket skills.  And I would need it to save the life of my son, Gavin.

Steph and I are in the bedroom.  It’s morning and she’s getting ready for work.  The Worm’s awake so she gets him out of his crib, brings him into our room and plops him down on the bed.  “Watch him, ok?”  She goes to the bathroom and fixes her hair.  Gavin and I are both sitting on the bed looking at each other.  The Worm then starts crawling around atop the duvet.  (You know where this is going, right?)  I’m caught up in conversation with Steph and I’ve got one eye on Gavin.  Well, he crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over.  I think nothing of it, because in my conscious mind, no rational baby would want to leap off the edge of the bed and plunge 2 feet to their fate…

This one’s not rational.  He dives.

This is an exact reenactment.

In the flash of half a second, I lunge towards him and grab onto his right lower leg catching him with his head dangling 2 inches from the ground.  (It was a one-handed grab, in case you were wondering.)  On a side note, since all the great techniques have names I call this one “Oak tree Catches Flying Squirrel

Afterwards, with baby safe on the bed again, my adrenalin kicked in.  I also realized Steph watched the whole thing in the bathroom mirror.  (Yes, I got an earful from her.)  If I had missed, I’m pretty sure there would have been two doctor’s visits, one for his head and one for my a$$.  (I’m sorry Steph.  You are right again, as always.  It won’t happen again.  You are the prettiest woman in the universe.)

I’m patting myself on the back for this one.  I’m still in the awe part of my awesomeness.

Gavin – 5; Dad – 4