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Writer's pictureROGER H. TALL, M.D.

DUCT TAPE ON THE PATHWAY TO OBEDIENCE

A few summers back, there was an explosion of cicadas in Island Park. These insects are developmentally synchronized and emerge in any one location, as adults, all at once in the same year in a 17 year cycle. Their distinctive loud singing is a mating call belted out by the males. The high pitched song actually repels birds and frightens small children. My granddaughter, Alexa, would not leave the cabin by herself because the din made it seem that there was an army of predators waiting to pounce on her. She would ride with me on the ATV, partly because the noise of the engine eliminated the sound of the cicadas. We were pulling a dead tree into a better spot with the ATV and stopped the engine to get off and disconnect the tow strap. The cicada chorus resumed immediately. Alexa’s back stiffened and she announced, in a loud voice usually reserved for her younger identical twin brothers, “Animals of the forest! Stay where you are!” When the cicadas return, she will probably have children of her own who think that they are in charge.


With their Norwegian heritage, Alexa’s brothers, were not given ordinary, wimpy Welsh names like Robert or Roger—they had to have Norse power names— Maximilian and Gunnar. True to their heritage, they are almost always sparring with each other. From the first moments they came to Island Park, their preferred activity was throwing rocks all over the aggregate driveway. I can still see them in diapers, spending hours finding the right rock and flinging it a few feet away. A few years passed and they left the diapers behind, but still liked to throw the rocks. Their aim was not good, but the rocks flew a few feet further each summer.


One hot afternoon, I was working in the garage and heard the rock-throwing begin. One or two rocks actually grazed the cars and I took measured exception to their choice of fun and asked them to stop. They like a challenge and chose to continue, accidentally bouncing some stones off the cars. The line in the sand was drawn with my promise to “Duct Tape” them if they threw any more rocks. I could see Max measuring the risk factor while Gunnar just picked up a rock, thinking that Grandpa was not actually going to do anything like that. I, too, like a challenge and make it a habit to keep my promises. The next projectile flew into the garage and bounced off the propane tank with a reverberating echo. The boys just stood there with widening eyes, transfixed by the sound, not realizing what they had hit and that they had just crossed “the line.” It was like steer wrestling at the rodeo. I sprang into action, grabbed the roll of Duct Tape and caught Gunnar before he could run away. In just a few seconds, Gunnar’s arms were taped down to his sides and he could just wiggle his hands. His ankles were taped together and he laid on the ground, flopping around like he was part of the Seal Show at Sea World. Max and Alexa went into panic mode and ran back into the house screaming, “Grandpa’s killing Gunnar! Grandpa’s killing Gunnar!”


What followed is a bit of a blur, but I do recall that their father ran out and could not stand up because he was laughing so hard. The rest of the family followed quickly, trying to process what they were seeing as they came out of the cabin. Max was still convinced that I was going to finish off Gunnar. Alexa rolled her eyes because she had warned “the boys” to be obedient. My wife tried to scold me, but couldn’t stop smiling whenever she tried to speak, and my daughter thanked me for doing something that had been needed for a long time. I had so much fun that I thought chasing and duct taping grandchildren would make a great event at the Island Park Rodeo.


The years have passed and the boys no longer throw rocks around the driveway. But there are two of them and they are bigger now. I can imagine in a few years, when I slip a few cogs, finding myself wrapped up in Duct Tape until I promise to behave better


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