If I Can't See Them, They Aren't There

In the days long before Doppler radar and up-to-the-minute weather reports, we had a foolproof way of knowing when a storm was brewing. We just kept an eye on our dog, Old Muff.

When Muff began running around the yard, barking unexplainably, a storm was surely just over the horizon. Human ears were deaf to the distant thunder, but not so with dog ears. And that whipped her into a tizzy.

If Muff could somehow slip into the house, she would thrust her head under a bed, hoping to avoid inevitable banishment to the yard. If she couldn't see us, then we weren't really there--or so she thought. But it wasn't hard for Mother to locate the fluffy tail and hindquarters that never made it into hiding.

When our son was a small, we often played a little game that worked off the same misunderstanding. It went like this. Hiding his face behind a book, he would wait for the question. "Where's Barrett?" The after a few moments of excited silence as we fumbled around the room, he would fling away the book with a shout, "Here I am! You couldn't see me, but I was here the whole time!" If we couldn't see his face, then he wasn't really there.

We had loads of fun until he figured out he wasn't really hidden. It was just a game.

Three teenagers employed this same ruse with me recently. It spoke volumes about their character.

I was near their house and observed them doing something they knew was wrong. They saw me watching, and when I made a move in their direction, they scurried into the house. Just like Old Muff.

I wasn't far behind and could see through the glass of the front door. Unlike slow-moving teenage boys, they instantly vanished into some inner sanctum. And if I couldn't see them, they really weren't there.

I rang the doorbell. No response. I rang again. A shout. "Jim! Go to the door." No movement. Another ring. "Jim! Go to the door!"

Jim appears, fear in his eyes. He opens the door and profusely apologizes. He confesses that he is already in trouble and doesn't want any more. He is sorry and promises to cease and desist.

Jim is the youngest of the three, probably 13 or so. His older companions never appear or make a peep. If I can't see them, they aren't there.

I make some remark about the cowardice of compelling the youngest to take the full brunt of confessing. They, too, don't need any more trouble, he grudgingly admits.

But I sense trouble in the wind. The storm hasn't yet crept over the horizon, but like Old Muff, I hear the thunder.

Copyright 2001 James McAlister

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