The Frog at 1174 Bald Eagle Lane – A Memoir

It was a cool, dark 9:00 evening as I rode to the hum of my golf cart next to two of my most precious jewels, granddaughters Charlie and Joee. The squeals of pleasure from ten-year-old Joee were met by her sixteen-year-old sister, both with equal excitement and sisterly admonishment to “calm down,” as Charlie vacillated between her younger self and her elevated sense of near adulthood. As the thrills of the night ride were ending, like a roller-coaster cruising to a halt, a calm satisfaction quieted the cart, and I proudly reflected on having done my grandfatherly duty to end their day on a high note. In my naivety, I forgot the day is never quite over for children.

I slowed to enter the driveway, making a slight swerve that caused the headlights to sweep the dark house front. Suddenly, both girls let out screams like cannon shot as the headlights revealed an evil sight and my worst enemy – a frog. My consternation was clear– it was a FROG. If you put the frog in a line-up with an erupting volcano, an impending hurricane, a snake, and an alligator, and ask me which causes me nightmares, the answer should be obvious. If you responded, the frog, you graduate from the U.S. Sorcerer’s Academy. Of course, my granddaughters are well aware of this, thanks to their mother, who as a little girl learned of her father’s phobia early in her life. I have searched high and low, yet I have not found the source of this phobia. Yet, it cannot be denied!

It is said that a frog coming into one’s life is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, I have read that a frog symbolizes fertility, abundance, and prosperity. Wow, I thought. I have been fertile. I have been blessed with a degree of abundance and prosperity, but I never thought to give a frog my thanks, a portion of credit for my blessings. I must research this further with my priest.

I find the frog harmless on the one hand but not in my hand. I have told the girls a silly secret. Day six when God created land animals and humans, was a long, laborious day, and he wasn’t quite finished as dawn on Day seven neared its appearance. So he hastily put together this mass of mostly silent, slimy, mushy, green, expressionless, peeing, eighteen toed being, we call “frog.” I realize they are simple, defenseless creatures, probably meant to give us some kind of pleasure, but really – “God, you could have done better!”

Seeing the frog at the same time I did, the girls bounced out of the cart, instantly knowing they were about to enjoy the highlight of an already exciting day. A remark comes out of my mouth, probably one that shouldn’t have, as I pull the cart into the garage. Ashamedly, I am not waiting to see if the girls’ flying exit ends on their heads; no, I am more in a hurry to close the iron gate of safety, my garage door. I enter the house and head to the front door to check on them, but I can clearly hear them challenging each other to pick up the frog. This isn’t something they do every day, so I peek out the window and see them laughing and dancing around the frog to see who has the guts to actually pick it up. Joee struck first! Frog now in hand while it pees in its own excitement, she continues dancing and laughing with glee next to Charlie who is doing the same thing.

As I open the front door, I make the mistake of hesitating to approach these monster slayers. When they see my hesitation, the question of what to do next with the frog is instantly answered. I have two points of view as I look upon the front porch scene – I see my two jewels enjoying a moment of playing gently with a harmless animal, while my interpretation of the same scene is that I am looking upon two children with a weapon against which, they know their papa has no defense. Of course, I am only too glad to further exaggerate the experience to their advantage.

Standing now, not too far from the open door of the house behind me, it takes but a blink of an eye for Joee, encouraged by Charlie’s instruction, to extend her frog filled hands in my direction and come lunging at me with this three-inch-long fearsome beast. Did I let out a she-scream or was it a man-yell? It is one or both, I’m not sure, but I quickly go back into the house and slam the door to their great enjoyment. The taunting continues with my advances and retreats until, much to the delight of the frog, it is able to wriggle out of Joee’s grasp, not once but several times. The circus of horrors continues for a good half hour as the battle rages in an ebb and flow of their powerful ally riding Joee’s tender hands, poised against my less than fervent voice of authority. After one of several “frog drops,” I loudly encourage the frog to, “Run, frog, run!” more for my own safety than any concern for its condition.

I am immediately reminded how slow a frog is. I watch it hop, then pause to steady itself so it can make the second hop of its getaway. The time required to steady itself offers its adversary the time needed to recapture it. Fortunately for the frog, it is not a bird, a snake, a lizard, or any number of other predators who is after it. They are only my fun loving girl-monsters having their way with it. Momentarily, the frog disappears into the brush of my shrub bed. Inching closer to the frog’s crash site, in my great wisdom, I assure the girls, “The frog is gone ladies, gone back to the safety of its own family, so right and good night!” But this torpid frog misses its opportunity and is now recaptured buy the evil sisters.

In the end, I retreat into the house for a final time and leave the field to the girls and the drunken and bruised frog, who is eventually freed by its captors.