Temple Attack!

“Temple Attack!” Samson howls.

The game begins. Solomon and Samson are on one end of the basement. They wield a ball, a pillow, or a blanket as though it is a sword. Katie and I stand on the other side of the basement. Pandemonium sets in.

My wife and I chase after our children. Our children run from us. I grab Solomon or Samson by the face. Lift them up. Try and body slam them on the mattress.

There is nothing wholesome, kind reader, about Temple Attack.

***

Solomon and Samson often have sleepovers on the weekend. What does this entail?

I drag the heavy mattress off the futon in our basement. Push it up against the wall. Katie adorns this mattress with sheets, pillows, and stuffed animals. Setting up these sleepovers is laborious. The boys head down for bed around 8:00. They stay up until 10:00. Or later. What do they do? Scream, yell, and scream some more. It’s very loud.

I’m not sure how Temple Attack started. It’s become something of a Tanner family ritual. We’ve been playing for years. I can’t even tell you why it is called Temple Attack. I think it was Solomon’s idea.

The game is very simple and begins right after we read to them before bed. Katie and I have to catch the children and throw them onto the mattress. If they both are on the mattress at the same time, Katie and I get a point. If we get three points, we win.

We rarely win. It’s not that we can’t catch the boys, though they are getting more elusive as they age. Samson is a notoriously bad loser. We like to avoid making him angry before bed. So we run around a little bit, let them win, and then head upstairs and leave them to madness of their sleepovers.

***

Again, kind reader, I’ve told you there is nothing wholesome about Temple Attack. There have been plenty of injuries. Samson once punched me in the face, causing me to bite my lip. Blood was everywhere. Samson thought he murdered his father. He was somewhat disturbed.

Katie once threw out her back lifting one of the boys towards the mattress. The pain was so bad she went into something of a state of shock. Again, the boys thought they might have murdered their mother. Disturbing.

I’ve knocked the wind out of Samson more times than I care to admit. And I’m always worried the boys are going to bump heads. Why don’t we cancel this barbaric affair? You try and tell Samson you don’t want to play. He gives you the pouty lip, makes a big deal, and coerces you into a quick game. Hard to say no to that young man.

I suppose the boys will outgrow Temple Attack soon enough. They’ve outgrown so many things. Nine and eight now. Soon they’ll have no interest in being body slammed by their father. Soon I’ll lose the ability to lift them up, twirl them around, and jackknife them to the floor. I suppose I should enjoy the experience while it lasts. Easier said than done. Samson wiggles out of my headlocks with enthusiasm.

Now, before you go calling child services, do know that I’m exaggerating a little bit. I would never actually hurt my children. Though I can’t say the same for them. Maybe you should call parent services instead. My lip bled like a geyser when Samson came after me. I had to explain the sort on my mouth for weeks.