Charley Out

Frank Lloyd Wright had it right.
He knew the most interesting space is where outside and inside come together, mesh and meld. Where the wall is blurred, where one can drink coffee outside under a roof in a rainstorm, where one can drink beer in the heat, but out of the sun.

With that in mind, the Double Mountain brewpub in Hood River Oregon is a perfect place to spend a summer afternoon. Hoppy ales, a surprisingly stand-up pilsner and a great pizza (try the Jersey, you will not be disappointed) were served to us at our table, next to an open roll-up door inside a former garage space. A light breeze cut the heat as we looked up the Columbia River Gorge, framed by the red-gold grass on the Klickitat Hills.

And then there was Charley.

Charley, a tow-headed three-year old, the apple of his mother’s eye, had discovered the velvet rope in front of our table which separated the former garage space from the sidewalk. He would run up and push against it, letting it swing out, then back again towards our beers. It was cute the first time (once we realized our four dollar hop-filled confections were safe). Not so much the second, or fifth, or tenth.
Three tables back his parents kicked back with friends, enjoying their beers in a way that I wished I could enjoy mine. They were in their late thirties: salt and pepper hair, healthy, educated. The odds that they drove up in a Subaru Outback are astronomical. They had no idea what there kid was up to.

Jean-Paul Sartre had it only half right. Hell is not other people. Hell is other people’s children.

At last, the dad noticed that Charley was out of bounds. “Charley, Charley come back!”
Charley left, but soon he was back, swinging the velvet rope towards us and shrieking happily.

Minutes passed. Finally the parent’s awareness crept in. Perhaps Charley’s audience was a tad unwilling. The dad corralled Charley. I could relax with my Pilsner.

“Is he bothering you?” the dad asks.

I stopped mid swallow. What do you do?
Are you the guy that says: “Your little whelp is making himself a nuisance. Please exercise your responsibility as a parent and remove him from my field of vision.” and then deal with the pall your lack of patience casts on the inns good fellowship?
Or, are you the guy that fakes a smile, raises his glass and says “He’s good. No problem.”

In case you are wondering; I am the guy who fakes a smile.

And so Charley continued...
Push, swing, hoot, push. Push, swing, hoot, push.
It was only after Jill had to jog the pizza out of the way from one of Charley’s more enthusiastic swings that his mom finally honed in on him with her GPS and brought him back to their table, then took him for a walk around the block.
Farewell Charley.

Charley out.