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Human Highlight Reel

Most of a good Homedaddy's achievements go unnoticed. You get around to that jelly spill on the floor before it hardens; you think ahead enough to pack TWO kinds of juice, in case the current favorite suddenly causes moral indignation.

Victories tend to be preemptive and preventive, and it's hard to take credit for something that doesn't happen.

Sometimes, though, there is the opportunity for genuine heroics. Good old fashioned knight-in-shining-armor stuff. That's when you really want someone to notice.

Recently I took Emma and Stella to a park which features the longest pair of slides in town. Polished steel, side by side; at least 50 feet long. Since the park is built onto a hillside, the upper platform of the slide, the launching pad, if you will, is easily accessible to anyone who can walk or crawl.

Emma has only recently started going the entire distance by herself, so we were video taping. It was a good day to shoot an action sequence; the slides were unusually fast. I was positioned at the bottom of the slide, going for the "experimental video" camera angle.

A moment later I heard someone yelling and looked over at the other slide to see a little pink blur, which turned out to be a 16-month-old baby girl, streaking down the slide as if attempting to qualify for the Olympic luge team.

Except for one detail. She was on her belly, looking up, cruising face-first.

As I experienced the slow-motion temporal distortion that often accompanies impending gore, my mind registered various details: Her nylon parka and wind pants minimized friction, while her fully prone posture helped to cut down on wind drag. The only way to come down this slide any faster would be on a skateboard. The expression on her face was calm, almost bored. The tiny sand pit at the bottom would have made a bad enough landing, given that her lower jaw would probably be the point of initial contact, but I could see that she would sail clear over that and into the hard dirt bank on the other side.

I dropped the camera and made a last-second dive, right hand extended. I caught her under the tummy just as she shot off the end of the slide, and I scooped her up into the air, the way an outfielder does when he wants to show the umpire that the ball's still in his glove after a shoestring catch. She never uttered a peep or even changed her expression.

I must say, since no one else will, that it was a spectacular play. If childcare were covered by ESPN, this catch would make the highlight reel for "This Week in Parenting."

Her parents were either in shock or oblivious to what had nearly happened. They thanked me sincerely but superficially, as if I'd held a door open for them. They were mildly curious to know if my camera was OK. I don't remember what I said. I was preoccupied by the specter of the Grim Reaper shuffling away, holding his thumb and forefinger an inch apart as he griped, "Missed it by THAT muchð"

Then it was over and everyone went about their business.

"Wait a minute," I wanted to yell. "Where's the parade? Where's my medal?" I wanted the fans to rush the field and hoist me up on their shoulders.

But the moment was gone. Just another day on the job. Recognition-wise, it might just as well have been another jelly spill.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.