A Trip to Wal-Mart

Life changes when I go to the store in Kadie’s absence. When she pulls an evening shift, and there is shopping to be done, the children and I descend upon a local, unsuspecting retail outlet. Last night we went to Wal-Mart, in order to fetch some groceries. Scooter and Skeeter are at a delightful age where their requests are few and easily ignored.

Skeeter, on the other hand is pure recklessness. Before we entered the store, I asked him to state again the 2 rules for stores:

1) Don’t run away

and

2) Don’t touch stuff

After he repeats them, I have him state the consequences of his actions (like Moses in Deut 28). The consequence of a transgression of either law is:

3) Or else I will ride in the cart.


These two rules have been carefully crafted over the last several years, ever since Squealer was old enough to walk on his own. In my experience, these rules should provide a meaningful balance between freedom and responsibility (the twin poles that serve as boundaries for us all).

In order to reinforce these ideas, I have him carefully repeat each one, as a creed, before we enter the store.

I think that the banishment to the cart seat is an appropriate response. For Squealer, immobility is severe, as I’ve noted before. Squealer exists to move. And if he is not moving, he is not fulfilling his telos. In order to keep him manageable, we go through these commands ritualistically anytime we enter into a store. We’ve spent untold minutes over the last few years before entering into commercial locations.

And it never works.

As soon as we enter the store, his restlessness grows. When the girls are with me, I often use them to keep him corralled. Since he also grabs for things on the aisle (whether he’s in the cart or not) I rarely take him down into the grocery aisle itself. Instead, I will stop the cart near the beginning of the aisle, tell the girls to watch him, and then I’ll head down through the busy aisle while they remain on the outside. In that way, I follow the paths of my ancestors who would often establish a basecamp and then engage on foraging forays into the wilderness in search of food.

Normally, this arrangement works adequately. They will keep him busy (by doing things like swinging him as they hold a pair of his feet and hands, or playing “I Spy” etc.).

But yesterday was not a normal day.

As I was picking up a few bottles of Caffeine Free Diet Coke (“After the caffeine and sugar go, what’s left?” Kadie always asks), I heard Scooter yelling. “Dad! Squealer won’t come back.” I made my way through the press of people and encountered a scene I would never have imagined.

He was amongst the cheese. (again, he clearly has a lactose addiction).

Between the wall of the Wal-Mart and the food aisles, are large, refrigerated, display bins. In these bins are located a wide assortment of cold, sliced, packages of cheese. Squealer had climbed into one of these bins and was walking on large packages of Kraft sliced American cheese. He also had a substantial grin on his face.

As I maneuvered around him, circling him like prey, he took up the challenge and proceeded to mirror my movements so that I could not get near him. Finally, using the girls like sheep-dogs, I was able to manipulate him until he was within my grasp.

I grabbed him and caught him by the hood of his sweatshirt. As I grabbed him and brought him up to eye level I said “SQUEALER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!!!!” He paused for just a second, and in his eyes I saw a blazing euphoria, unbefore seen in his 3 ½ year old life.

He shouted triumphantly “DADDY! I STAND ON CHEESE!!!!” as though he had just fulfilled one of his major life goals…as though he had conquered a lactose fortified Mount Everest...as though he could now pass from this earth into the sweet hereafter in perfect contentment.

There were too many people staring at us for me to beat him (and alas, I always leave Mr. Buster at home). And technically, I had never before forbidden him from traipsing amongst the Munster. So I slowly gathered our things and headed for the checkout line.

And he rode in the cart for the rest of the evening.

But somehow, with his slight grin and the song of triumph on his lips, I could tell that he thought it was worth it.