The Foose Win

A kitschy title didn't change the fact the Dad's were in charge.  It was their morning.  It said so on the arrowed signage in the main entrance of the preschool-Dad's And Donuts (an upscale sugar-catered art show).  The work of the children was tacked 'round the room on large blue display boards.  Dangling "K" kites, hand painted turtles morphed from picnic Dixie bowls, and neon string art held the morning in place. 

Early on, Dads sat still with sons and daughters-talked about the game.

My boys saw a Foosball table, adult regulation (which translates today as-Caution! Foosball sticks at throat height).  Preschoolers peeked over the walls at orange and blue "robots."  They tested the men.  Walked from stick to stick tweaking handles, causing slow-motion 'foose' on the field.  Other kids came over too, until eight or more gathered, tiny preschooler hands cranked on every stick.
Nonchalantly, I voiced my concern.  "Step back, son!" I said, "You're going to get one to the throat."  Too late.  He was looking at me, trying to process that message when a little girl pushed her line of men right field and the butt end of her stick hit my child on the chin. 

"Hey." He said confused.  Confounded.  Was there no one to blame?  All the children had their hands on sticks.  How...?   He looked left to gather info, and was slammed in the cheek by an oblivious little girl in a pink party dress opposite him at the table. 

"Ouchie.  Daddy?"  Another child took a hit to the lip and another to the collar bone, one in the temple, the Adam's apple until all the little children at the Dad's and Donuts Art Event were fighting tantrums and tears (but why!  Why, was no one to blame?).  The children walked away defeated.  The Foose had won!  Perhaps, their very first game.  Finally, the tables had been turned.  The soccer players looked beyond their mini-stadium, they seemingly turned euphoric cartwheels watching someone else get spun up and clobbered.  Their day had finally come.

It was a dangerous game controlled by confused children who'd been-not long ago-toddlers.  Spanky and his gang came to mind.  The Preschool Class of 2012, one week from graduation ceremonies, stood before me, surrounded by their meaningful art, The Ten Stooges.  I could already hear the sound effects rollin.' 
God love the graduating class this year!  "Wup! Wup!"