We moved out of crime-free Midtown last February to East Memphis only to have stuff stolen from us. Sometime recently, I can't say when for sure, some piece of human excrement came into our backyard and stole my toolbox and a socket set from the storage room attached to the carport. We're in and out of the storage room a lot so, granted, it gets left unlocked from time to time, yet it is still very much on our private property.
Worthless people who steal from people who purchase things make me angry. A stranger in my yard so close to where my family sleeps makes me angry. And then, this evening, GK and I were horsing around and I was watching her do "somer-flips" on the bed when she decided she wanted to watch something on TV. I flipped around On Demand and she chose, emphatically, Handy Manny.
She never watches Handy Manny, so why this sudden interest in tools? And is her interest only in anthropomorphic tools, or is it all tools, even the heavy kind made of cold-forged steel and, decidedly, mine? Perhaps I've been cursing the public at large when, in fact, the crime was internal.
But where would a 3-year-old hide a toolbox? How would she even get to the pawn shop without my knowledge and help? What did she do with the money from selling my tools and could I borrow $20?
Internal or external, friend or foe, we will all keep the storage room door locked from now on and keep a vigilant eye on who may be around. We will stay on our toes and protect what is ours. And, God willing, we will never, ever have to watch Handy Manny again.
On another note, GK and I were playing later on in the evening when I impressed her with a bit of magic. This is important because GK has recently done some retooling of her Favorite People List and my name has dropped dramatically. I'm lucky to even be on the list. I'm somewhere just below whoever stole my tools (so she says).
We were playing with a Zippo lighter (that's normal, right?) and I made it disappear ... magic! ... and then reappear in her ear. She was transfixed, awed and on the cloudy edge of that fantasy world where anything is possible if you only believe.
She spent the next five minutes trying to cram that lighter into my ear. And I let her because I'm her father, I can do anything and because I'm better than whoever stole the toolbox from our storage room (so she says).