Gordon and the PVC Pipe

When we first moved into the house on Mallory, the back yard needed sprinklers installed. The workers came out and planned the layout, cutting each length of pipe, and placing each piece in position throughout the grass and groundcover, to be installed the next day. The workmen were trailed by a fascinated Gordon, then five years old. He was entranced by the adult-sized Lego pieces.

When Dad came home from work, Gordon proudly showed him a new creation--an amazing construction made from lengths and joints of PVC, culled from the yard. (It really was amazing, looking like a cross between a calliope and Willie Wonka's chocolate piping system.) Dad sternly pointed out that he had undone the hard work of the yardmen, who would be returning tomorrow to finish the installation, and would need all those pieces back into place. Crestfallen, Gordon promised to return each piece to its place first thing in the morning.

At 6 am, we were awakened by the alarm system, a feature new to us with the house, and which had required careful explanation to our little ones that if the alarm went off, the police would come, and so they must not open the doors when the red lights were on. At 6 am, we suspected one of them had forgotten, but who would get up at 6 am? and why?

We dashed into the living areas. Front door: still closed. Back door: open--aha! That alarm had no delay, so it went off immediately upon being opened. And next to the door, a substantial pile of PVC parts. David & I looked at each other. It wasn't hard to picture Gordon, determined to make everything right, waking up especially early, collecting each piece in the front of his enormous blue nightshirt, and slipping out the back door to put everything back before it could be a problem--only to be met by a terrifying alarm and the sure knowledge that the police would be there any minute, and then he would be in more trouble than ever.

David called the alarm company and headed off the police call, and I ran to find Gordon. I found him under his blankets, eyes staring, stiff with terror, and did what I could to reassure him that everything was fine. I'm not sure what he took away from the experience, other than to never set off the alarm again, but whatever he learned, it was surely seared indelibly.