In my family, over the last five years or so, there have been a series of what my wife and son have come to call “Chrisidents.” That is short for Chris + incident. These are mishaps, mistakes, events, that could only happen to me. OK, maybe not just to me, but seem to be more common to me than others.
I’m not what you would call the most organized person. I still tend to rush into things without as much planning or forethought as is at times required. Just ask my father for examples of all the times I was ‘rammy.’ Sorry about that block of wood I sent careening toward your head, dad. In that incident (the Chrisident moniker had yet to be born) I sent a piece of wood the wrong way through a table saw, resulting in that piece of wood flying at high speed directly at my dad’s face. Good thing he has quick reflexes.
A few years ago, we had plans to meet up with my parents at a provincial park for a few days of camping. Tied down on the car was my most prized possession: an irreplaceable, hand-crafted cedar strip canoe. It was a wedding gift from my uncle, and seeing that gift in the backyard is one of the rare times I’ve actually been shocked.
Because of the sentimental value of the canoe, I always lock it up at the campsite, securing it to a large tree. The canoe gets covered with a large tarp, because, out of sight, out of mind. Overkill, you say? Theft goes against the campers’ code, right? Tell that to the bearded hipster that conducted my marriage ceremony; he had his canoe stolen from his site at a provincial park.
On the way to the camp, I realized that I had forgotten to bring the lock. A stop at Canadian Tire easily solved that problem. I picked up one of those U-shaped cable locks that allow you to specify the code. We arrive safely at the camp, the canoe is unloaded, I select a code and promptly snap that lock on the canoe and around a large tree. Better make sure the combination works. I spin the dials to the chosen code, give the lock a tug . . . and nothing. I try again; code, tug, nothing.
That’s a problem.
I shout over to my wife, “The lock won’t open. The code isn’t working”
“Try it again.”
“I did, and it’s not opening.”
“Did you test the combination before you locked it up?”
There was about five seconds of silence. My wife already knew the answer.
“Not exactly,” I respond, sheepishly.
And there, friends, is one of many of my Chrisidents.
It’s a good thing that provincial parks have bolt cutters on hand.
Stay tuned for more Chrisidents. Many more.