Pranking Under Pressure

My mother told me that after I was born, they threw away the mold. I’m not accusing her of neglect, but why did she allow me to mold?

I’m hoping they threw away the mold of the rascal I call, my grandson . I don’t think my nerves could handle another child like him. We have a relationship like that of Inspector Jacques Clouseau and his manservant Cato Fong. The rascal seems to think it is his responsibility to sneak up on me at the most inopportune moments to keep my combat skills and vigilance sharp.

Years back, I was working in the garden in the front yard. Resting on my knees in the dirt, I was bent over the oscillating sprinkler trying to figure out why it wasn’t sweeping back and forth. I believe now that the little pest messed with it because as I lifted the sprinkler to check its settings, he turned on the outside faucet sending a full charge of water through the hose, soaking me.

The imp failed to realize that I had 100 feet of coiled hose attached to the sprinkler and his laughter lasted only a few short seconds as I jumped up with the charged sprinkler and chased him around the house. My wife and his mom and dad were sitting in lawn chairs in the back yard as the little guy ran past. I was close behind and soaking him with the sprinkler, all the while hoping that I wouldn’t run out of hose.

As I passed by Cheryl, she angrily yelled at me, “Grandpa, sometimes the grandkids get to win!”

To which I yelled, “Not today!”

That is the relationship between the grandson and me. He pranks me, and I prank him. We never really trust each other.

He has another unique trait which in my old age I admire. He has incredible bladder pressure. When he was four, his sister was in the bathroom when he was desperate with a full bladder. Frustrated that he couldn’t get into the bathroom, he ran out onto the back deck and emptied himself onto the back yard. It was an impressive arc which reached over 12 feet and had so much force he had to use one foot to steady himself.

“Wow, that’s gotta be some kind of record,” I thought.

Fast forward to October of that year. I don’t remember where I found it, but I had in my possession a latex mask of an old man which when pulled over my head, was very real looking and somewhat frightening and I was going to prank the boy.

It was a weekend which Cheryl and I had the grandkids for a sleepover. I waited for an opportunity to use the mask. At 8:00 pm we were all in the TV room, the grandkids sitting on both sides of grandma. I heard him say that at the next commercial, he was going to need to run to the bathroom. This was my chance!

The kid’s bathroom was at the top of the upstairs landing. The lights through the house were off but the boy had run to the bathroom before in the dark. I got up before the commercial and left the TV room to retrieve the hidden mask. Then, mask in hand, I went into the dimly lit bathroom, stepped into the shower, and drew the curtain closed.

Downstairs, the commercial came on the TV and I heard the grandson’s footsteps running up the stairs. There was a night light shining in the bathroom, so he didn’t turn on the overhead lights. This was his fatal mistake. He was about to be pranked.

From behind the shower curtain, I heard him whining as he flipped up the toilet seat lid. Placing one foot behind himself I heard his high-pressure sprayer filling the bowl.

I apparently hadn’t thought the prank through very well. At least that’s what Cheryl still reminds me to this day. In the dim glow of the night light, I started to make a low growling sound from behind the shower curtain. His head spun around and he eyed the shower curtain at the same moment that I opened it a few inches and stared down at him wearing the mask of a spooky old man.

His eyes opened wide with terror, and he screamed with such a high pitch that it caused the next-door neighbor’s dogs to start barking. Then he did something which I hadn’t considered, he let go of his firehose. Under full pressure, he ran in circles in the bathroom with his hands over his head all the while spraying the walls, curtains, and ceiling.

Realizing I had gone too far, I stepped out from behind the curtain and stooped toward him saying, “It’s me, it’s me.”

Apparently, I should have removed the mask before I stepped out of the shower. The little guy was out the door and running down the staircase before I could stop him.

On a positive note, his bladder had emptied completely before he made it back to his grandmother.

The grandson and I have been pranking each other for years now. He still tells me that he remembers the night that I “really, really freaked him.”

But seriously, who pranked who? Not only was Cheryl mad for a week, but I had to wash the curtains, mop the bathroom floor, sponge down the walls, and shampoo the carpets. And, the little weasel, standing behind the protection of his grandmother, smiled at me and said, “Gotcha grandpa!”

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