Page 119 of Claimed By the Bikers
“Why?”
The eternal question. At two years old, Caleb has discovered that “why” can extend any conversation indefinitely and generally results in adults making faces that entertain him endlessly.
“Because gravity doesn’t care about your sense of adventure,” Atlas explains, lifting Caleb to hip height. “It will drop you and your bike without regard for your feelings.”
“What’s gravity?”
“The thing that makes you fall when you climb too high.”
“I don’t fall.”
“You haven’t fallenyet. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
I intervene before Atlas gets trapped in an endless loop of toddler logic. “The difference is that careful people get to try more fun activities because they don’t spend time in the hospital.”
This resonates with Caleb’s desire for maximum fun. “Can I shoot arrows?”
“Can you follow safety rules?”
“Yes!”
“All the safety rules? Even the boring ones?”
“Yes!”
I hand him the small bow designed for his age group. “Show me standing position.”
He plants his feet wide apart and straightens his shoulders. His audience murmurs approval.
“Good. Show me how to hold the bow.”
Caleb grips the bow correctly, tongue poking out slightly as he concentrates. For all his reckless tendencies, he’s actually quite coordinated when he puts his mind to focusing.
“Now the arrow.”
This takes several attempts and considerable patience, but eventually he manages to nock the arrow properly.
“Remember, we never point arrows at people,” I remind him.
“Even bad people?”
“Even bad people. Mama’s the only one who shoots at bad people, and only when they’re trying to hurt our family.”
“What about Daddy Atlas? And Daddy Garrett? And Daddy Silas?”
“They protect our family in their own ways. You protect our family by being safe and smart and listening to instructions.”
“Okay.” He draws the bow back about six inches—all his little arms can manage—and releases. The arrow travels roughly ten feet and lands in the grass well short of any target.
“Good shot!” I tell him, and mean it. For a first attempt by a two-year-old, managing to release the arrow at all is an accomplishment.
“Again!”
“One more, then we need to help clean up for dinner.”
Caleb’s second shot goes even shorter, but his grin suggests he considers this a rousing success.
