Making Bad Choices

 Making Bad Choices

(Note to Reader: Continuing this journey down Memory Lane, I thought I’d share a blog from 2017. Enjoy!)

Over the years as I’ve tried to plan out the rest of my life, I don’t think I ever pictured myself sitting flat in the gutter in our local tourist night spot. But there I was, sitting beside our grandson while he held his head between his knees.

It all started with a birthday promise.

When our oldest grandson turned 7 a few weeks ago, we gave him a necktie (and found out that what he really wanted a whole grown up suit). Along with the tie was a promise that, having now reached the age of perfection, he would be given the treat of a night out to a fancy sit down restaurant. We were all excited.

Well, this part of Australia is currently in the middle of a newsworthy heat wave, so the necktie didn’t happen on either of the men, but we were all dressed ‘smart’ and were in pretty high spirits as we pulled out from his house.

Now for some time, our family slogan has been, “Make Good Choices”. I think it came from the old movie, “Freaky Friday”, but it’s served us well as our kids have come through the tumultuous pre-teen, teenage, and are now within sight of their middle-aged years. We can say with a certain amount of pride, an extra dose of humility and a full cup of gratitude to God that our kids have turned out even better than we might have expected.

But alas, this ‘choice’ thing may have been where the whole plot last week began to digress.

There are very few ‘family friendly’ restaurants in Australia, apart from the fast food chains. We wanted somewhere where he could order off a menu and sit politely till the food arrived. Believe me, given this child's high energy level, we felt that this would be an ambitious goal to achieve.

We got suggestions from friends, searched the internet, and finally decided that a tram ride into the heart of Surfers Paradise to a place called “Pancakes in Paradise” would be just the ticket for all three of us.

Arriving in Surfers, we parked the car in a shady lane and strolled with grace and style to the tram. Riding two stops we alighted into the hub of tinsel town (imagine Honolulu’s Waikiki district) and, gaping up at the 80 story buildings festooned with neon lights, we entered the restaurant.

If you don’t count the first choice of a pancake restaurant, the second choice of “menu” may have been when things began to cascade.

After carefully, and quite maturely I thought, perusing the menu, he moved away from the ‘Death by Chocolate’ choice and announced that he’d have the short stack. He read his selection out carefully to the attentive waitress, who then asked if he wanted powdered sugar, butter, ice cream OR whipped cream. Beaming from ear to ear, he answered, “Yes!”. My heart swelled to see the little bit of American in him coming out.

Tony wanted the ribs, but a withering look from me convinced him otherwise. Thru secret hand signals, raised eyebrows and whispered Japanese, I reminded him that we might want to hold off on the expensive choice, just in case our 7-year-old charge got out of hand, forcing us to leave the restaurant prematurely. He nodded with a sigh and settled for a hamburger. Of course for myself, being both cheap and not too hungry, in a note of solidarity, I opted to get what the kid got.

We sipped our included ‘soft drink’ options while we waited. I had wanted coffee, but of course that wasn’t included, so I settled for diet coke while of course the young man in our group opted for the real deal. What is that, 12 Tablespoons of Sugar?

When our meals came, we held hands and prayed earnestly and then loaded on the syrup even though they offered only one kind. What kind of ‘pancake house’ was this anyway?

Everything went well.

Then we exited the restaurant, with maybe just a bit of enhanced exuberance on the kid's part, we all leaped and skipped along the sidewalk, dashing here and there looking for a suitable souvenir for his little brothers, who had been left behind, not having met the “7-year-old” requirement.

Even he had the discernment to know that his brothers probably had no use for clip-on Koalas or a t-shirt that said “……and all I got was this t-shirt”.

Then we found what was possibly choice # 3: a Candy Store!

After much deliberation he settled on a ‘Violet Crumble”. A big one.

For you northerners, a Violet Crumble is honeycomb (aerated corn syrup?), maybe an English or Australian invention, really yummy. Of course it’s covered in a thick layer of chocolate. The perfect gentleman that he is, he graciously offered me a bite…and I took a BIG one.

By now, with the sugar high in full swing, we started walking back to the tram. Too late I began to see what was happening and kindly suggested to him that give me the rest of the candy bar for “safe keeping”, as I wrenched it from his hand.

It’s just that I was starting to get a disturbing mental image of Parental Wrath when we delivered the spinning top back home.

But boy was I wrong.

Like a spring gradually winding down, he slowed his pace, came to a complete stop, then slumped to the sidewalk. I think the music even stopped.

“Quick! Get up silly! What’s wrong?” I cajoled.

One look into his glazed eyes told the tale……….SUGAR!

I ducked into a nearby convenience store and bought a bottle of water, and asked for a bag….. just thinking ahead.

No sir. He drank some water, but would not be budged from the middle of the sidewalk! We drug him to one side and positioned him against a planter. Resting a few minutes he started to rally, but then after only a few steps slumped down again. Tony tried carrying him piggy back, but when both of us starting talking about the consequences of him throwing up down the back of Tony’s shirt, he got quickly dropped back onto the sidewalk.

Finally it was decided that Tony would walk ahead to the tram to get the car and bring it around. It would take at least 30 minutes, but when we asked him for his thoughts on this plan, he raised his head momentarily and agreed it was the best plan.

While we waited, I had time to tell him a tale of my own youth when I found a box of chocolates hidden in my sister’s closet. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind as I furtively yet gleefully ate thru the entire box.

I never had the chance to know how she would react, largely because I never told her. I did learn a valuable lesson, and while I didn’t experience the nausea that the grandson was feeling, I got the thrill of experiencing the other option which I found later would be referred to by many as “The Missionary Two-step”! Wow, unforgettable…..

Failing to see the humor in my well-learned lesson, he continued to groan, “Mae (my grandma name), WHY did you let me eat so much sugar?”

I searched my mind for an appropriate answer and found none.

I did try however, to get him to remember how much fun we’d had up to now, all the while repositioning the plastic bag for quick access if necessary.

After about 30 minutes (me in a dress) sitting cross legged on the sidewalk, we got a phone call.

The tram was a relatively new experience for both of us, and somehow Tony had missed his stop and was now miles away from the goal.

I held the phone to my chest and asked my ward, “Mate, can you walk to the tram now? Gigi’s (Tony’s Japanese ‘grandpa name’), made a mistake and can’t bring the car for another hour”.

He nodded weakly and I gave Tony the instructions to meet us at the car.

Helping him up to a standing position, we both wobbled forward. Remember I’d had exactly the same menu and wasn’t feeling too hot myself. We caught the tram, got off at the right stop and made it to the car.

After a few minutes waiting at the car, Tony joined us and by then the sugar was dispersing and the birthday boy was recovering enough for us to laugh all the way home.

“Mae! Gigi!” he called our from the inky depths of the back seat. “We had a really good time, but please don’t ever let me make such BAD choices again!”

This led to what we hope was a teaching moment for us all.

Sermonette: It may seem like a good idea at the time. It may be SWEET, but there are consequences.

We got home well after bedtime, and his first words to his dad upon arriving were, ”I’m never having sugar again!”

We wondered what he might have been thinking the next morning, but wisely chose to relish in our “Grandparent of the Year” award and stay away awhile.

Memory verse (from Proverbs 18:17): “The one who first states a case seems right, until the other comes and cross-examines.”