Holy Myotis Batman!

We arrived at the playground later than usual. I dropped heavily on a wooden step and proceeded to scan the area and slurp my iced coffee, doing my best to keep both boys in my line of sight and to consume maximum amounts of cold, refreshing caffeine. Zeke was frolicking in the DragonWater, Jack stumbling about, picking up random twigs and bits of who-knows-what to present to me.  It was a day like any other.

What caught my attention was a shift in Jack’s movement:

a pause and a distinct re-direct.


Jack’s attention was locked on a dark form lying on the concrete.  I looked at it blankly, unable to identify it.
A discarded black plastic bag? A piece of rotting fruit?

I walked closer and stood over it, staring for a good 15 seconds before it clicked- it was a freaking BAT!!!! My mind started working furiously to make sense of the situation….

A toy?
No way. It was definitely real. The furry little body, the leathery folded wings, those teeny ears. And it was so small and flat. Not a toy.

Hard to say….. but probably. It’s lying in the middle of the playground, in the middle of the day.

Probably! Crap! It’s the middle of the day! What is a bat doing here?!!!

I pointed it out to a grandmother who told me calmly that it was indeed alive, and that she’d watched it crawl to that spot from somewhere else earlier. I pointed it out to a mom who said matter-of-factly, “Oh yes. The park is filled with bats. They’re great because they eat all of the mosquitoes.”
(Oh yeah. A bat on the playground. It’s no big deal, right?)

Meanwhile, the kids begin to gather. Hovering. Asking questions. Peering down. Putting their little faces disturbingly close to the bat.

“What is it?” “Is it dead?” “Is it a nice bat?” “Will it bite me?”

And all of a sudden, I was deep within a “grown-up moment”, one of those moments when it becomes uncomfortably clear that you are the adult in a situation and that you have to act responsibly. I couldn’t let my kids get so close to a sick bat. I had to DO something. (Dammit!!)

I started talking out loud to the other adults, doing my best to conceal my discomfort with the situation. The other mom was like 9 months pregnant—even though she was acting really brave, there was no way I could ask her to squat down and get rid of a sick bat. A dad came over and immediately whipped out his iphone and started snapping pictures. Clearly, it was up to me.

A plan formed in my mind. I would finish my iced coffee, scoop the bat up in the cup and toss it over the fence. As soon as I worked up the nerve……

Zeke started to get closer and closer to me, he wound an arm around my leg. He was asking questions about the bat. He was clearly nervous, but also intrigued….
“Will it bite me, Mom?”

I stood up, determined to execute my plan, when the damn thing skittered away. And when it walked: flat on its tummy, those little toe claws on the ends of its wings dragging on the concrete, insect-like and awkward…
Ugh! I was horrified! I imagined feeling the weight of it as it wiggled around inside the cup, hearing its frantic shuffling movements. I shrieked! The kids gasped. I looked around for someone else to take control of the situation. Could I call 911?

And then I focused on Zeke. He still looked nervous, but resolved, excited. I was watching his little mind turn things over and I was watching a BIG idea form there:

“Mom,” he said. “If that bat bites me, will I turn into Batman?”

“NO!” I said, attempting to project a fierce air of absolute authority.

My boy turned away from me, ready to fulfill his destiny—and I was immediately determined to get that fucking bat off of the playground, come hell or high water.

Luckily, the iphone dad swooped in like Superman, grabbed my cup, scooped the bat up cleanly and tossed bat and cup about 3 feet away from the playground, safely outside of the fence.

I will never forget the look on Zeke’s face. The hope. The fear. The brave determination to face that fear in pursuit of power; of the magic and glory that he dreams of day in and day out.

It was beautiful.
And so terrifying.

5 responses

  1. Love it! 🙂

    August 15, 2010 at 8:32 pm

  2. Amazing! But I think you're supposed to lick the bat in order to become Batman. Will you please pass this info over to Zeke? You Rule. Come to Los Angeles soon!Uncle Sean

    August 16, 2010 at 2:00 am

  3. Right on.

    August 16, 2010 at 6:57 pm

  4. Jen

    Amanda, cute pictures, and adorable and funny stories. I love the one where you guys started your day at 3 am. Glad to hear Zeke like the Montessori- Jen Pinna

    March 10, 2011 at 11:21 pm

    • Thanks Jen! My sister does the amazing drawings! My children provide the drama– all I do is channel it into words. Hope to see you and Giovanni out and about now that Spring is here! We have to get our boys together!

      March 11, 2011 at 1:36 pm

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