The Great Pumpkin

As with any language, success is not always measured by the individual's mastery of the dialect.  Often, it is the interaction with other native and non-native speakers that hones our skills and prevents us from making an ass of ourselves.

A visit to our local pumpkin farm is always an autumn treat.  Picking out the perfect pumpkin is something that the boys absolutely relish.  Last year, however, my wife was ill and the task of taking all three boys to pick out pumpkins fell to me...alone.

"Dad, I want to get the biggest pumpkin they have," Justin announced.

"Okay," I replied.  Really, how big could that be?

Now, there are several important factors to consider when a father (a large boy himself) takes his sons on an adventure of this nature.  Indeed, the missing dose of estrogen may well have prevented circumstances from getting out of hand.  Alas, no estrogen was to be found.

Factors to deliberate:

• Would this pumpkin have won a ribbon at the county fair?  Yes.
• Can the pumpkin in question be ridden?  That is to say, should it have sprouted legs and galloped around the paddock would the boy have been able to ride it like a large, orange horse?  Yes.
• Have you been subconsciously scanning the crowd of onlookers to see who is wearing an expression of horror at what is certain to be your undoing?  Yes.
• Was there concern that you might recognize any of them and they, in turn, would tip off your wife?  Yes.
• Was there concern that you might not recognize anyone and be forced to ask a complete stranger to help you load this behemoth into your car?  Yes.
• Did the previous concern raise a red flag seeing as how you have no trouble lifting the son in question?  No.
• Should it have?  Yes.

Ashley was sick.  Perhaps she wouldn't notice.  But she would not be sick forever and eventually she was bound to wonder about the sudden appearance of a large orange boulder on the front walk.   Having settled comfortably into blissful ignorance, Justin and I wrestled the pumpkin onto the wagon the very best way we could.  We finally climbed the hill and presented our find to the cashier.  It was here that we were confronted with our final opportunity to come to our senses.  If only we had.

The farm could only charge us for a 60 pound pumpkin because that is where the scales capacity ended and the pumpkin began.

To this day we still don't know how much it actually weighed.  All I do know is that it took a furniture dolly to move it to the front porch and two garbage collections to dispose of the evidence.

- 26 October 2010