hierarchy of needs « Frank's Place

In general we all have a hierarchy of needs, right? I mean we all subconsciously keep a running list of what things are most important, and in what order their importance lies. Food, shelter, safety, etc.. usually populate the top of any list for an adult. When put in a crisis the list becomes much more clear, much more defined. So for example if the house was burning down, aside from your kids, what would you try to save? What if everyone was safe, including pets, and all important documents were secured and you were given the option to run back in and get one or two things, what would it or they be? That might be a tough decision.

Would that be tougher for kids? What does their list look like? What would they grab in a time of crisis? Well, we got the chance to see exactly what Frank’s list looked like the other night.

Frank’s Gobby, (my mother), came for an much needed impromptu visit last week. My brother was headed to Atlanta for business and she tagged along. He kicked her out around exit 338 in Knoxville and she made it to our humble abode around 2am. Yeah my side of the family are all night owls for the most part. Frank is not so he was in bed when his Gobby finally came through the door. She was going to stay in the room across from his, so we were trying to be quiet as we got her settled.

Apparently we were not quiet enough and he started stirring. But he didn’t get up so it looked like we dodged a bullet. I went back to bed, Tracy was already asleep, and Gobby went to the can down the hall to perform her evening/early morning ablutions. At some point during that time Frank got up and wandered out into the hall. He saw a light on in the bathroom and opened the door. He was confronted with my mother who he sees about once a year. Now I know the kid is slick, but I didn’t know he was this slick. He looks up and my mom says, “hi Frank! It’s Gobby!” It’s 3:30ish in the morning, but the kid remained cool and responded with a shrug and a nonchalant “eh” and wandered back to his room.

Once there he must have shifted into some form of crisis management because when my mom went to her room and shut the door, he grabbed what was important and came flying down the hall to our room. He was hauling the mail. In track and field parlance he was at maximum foot turnover rate. He may have touched the floor every third step. My side of the bed is positioned so I can see down the hall through the slightly cracked door, allowing me to see both of the kids room doors by barely lifting my head. All I have to do is open my eyes and attempt to focus. As this event was unfolding all I could hear was small feet pounding the carpet at a high rate of speed. I could see nothing.

All of a sudden there was Frank, bedside, speechless, and holding something in each hand.

The mind of a child is fascinating. He presented himself bedside with what he felt were the two most important things in his life: Lenny, his stuffed lamb, and a sword. It’s not just any sword, it lights up green like a Jedi’s light-sabre. He got it at the zoo when we took him for halloween. He wouldn’t come up on the bed unless we took the sword up first. Then he passed us Lenny. Once he was assured Lenny was safe he climbed up on the bed with us. When he got up there we could tell how hard he was breathing and how fast his tiny little kid heart was racing. He was scared. So he grabbed his buddy, a weapon, and hot footed it to mom and pops room for a defensive fall back position.

A warrior at heart, who knew.

We’ll just overlook the fact that he ran past his defenseless sisters room, not once but twice, and never so much as glanced at the door. I guess when the zombie apocalypse comes she’s on her own, although if she’s walking by then, zombies are in for a rough night.

Here is a reenactment. Note the steely eyes and how he keeps Lenny away from danger. Kid’s an assassin. Gobby was lucky to come out of that encounter alive.

The binker, or passy as some of you upper crusters might call it, is a permanent attachment, he didn’t need to go back for that.