Catch!

 You kids have all experienced how I will sometimes toss something at you.

Usually, but not always, I make sure you're ready. And I try to not ever toss something that could genuinely injure you.

This still mostly manifests when it is time to toss groceries for putting them away at home.  Or, at the store, tossing an item to be put in the cart.  Sometimes tossing an item from the next aisle over, to go in the cart.

This is something I picked up from Dad. I always just viewed it as fun unpredictable silliness befitting a fun Dad, but I guess you could dig deeper and find additional meanings in it if you wanted to.  I am sure there are threads of trust, teaching agility, impressing the need to be prepared.  But yeah, I think it was mainly intended to ride the fine line between a little bit of irreverent fun and a shade of low-risk foolishness.

One day when I was around 14 or so, Dad and I were at a convenience store on the way to his house.  I don't remember for sure, but my memory tells me it was really early morning, and I was really tired and unmotivated. But always loving my time with him, as typical, I did not choose to wait in the car, when I could be inside, with him.

I'm standing in one of the aisles, hands in my pockets, when I hear "catch!"  I turned just in time to see a full gallon of milk arrive through the air, bounce off my hip, and fall to the ground.  Kablooey.  Milk, everywhere!

I really didn't process it super fast, but I remember standing there, looking at the floor. The split gallon jug is draining its last bits of milk, and I'm standing near the center of this gigantic milk puddle.

Dad was so mortified, the memory of it just makes me smile and laugh. He was so sorry!  He was concerned I would feel guilty for missing the catch. He was soooo apologetic to the nonplussed cashier, who was working alone.  Oh my gosh this memory just cracks me up to remember.

He asked the cashier where the mop bucket was, and the two of us cleaned up the mess ourselves, and of course he paid for the splattered milk. He just kept apologizing over and over, and I kept telling him it was fine, and trying to not laugh too much.

Dad was always about memories.  Unpredictability, if done right, produces lots of great ones, and even when it fails, chances are it will still stick.  This one clearly did. As I like to say about all the things, good or bad, this is where we get The Stories.