Pushing Buttons

Shanty Town, Toots

Sumner, Ramona, and I make a fair amount of trips to Children's Hospital each month. One was yesterday. Getting from our car in the parking garage to our appointment is often a battle of will, patience, negotation, and wile. Why? Because of the buttons. As soon as I slid the door shut to the van, all three of us knew what we were going to face in a few steps. Sumner started strategizing three button pushes ahead, Ramona started squeaking about the button she could see, and I tried to over power them both and by saying how it will be. As we were walking towards the elevator, one child holding each of my hands, we were already in a frenzy.

Pushing the inside elevator button is more prized than pushing the outside elevator button. You may push the button that another has touched first, but touching it after the first person has lit it up is not much fun.

Ramona punches the button before Sumner has laid out a grand plan. Sumner remains calm, as he has already calculated that he will press the inside button since his jumpy little sister barreled ahead without thinking. Once inside the elevator Ramona wants to press the inside button as well--it is in front of her and she gets there first. With promises and assurances to Ramona that even if she doesn't pressing the button she sees right now that she will have a chance in a moment to press the inside button, we begin the journey.

After 3-foot-tall Ramona held the door open for every last person who was riding with us to exit, we were on the street level. Next, we faced a button that opens the door for wheelchairs and strollers to the sidewalk. Ramona is more tuned into the door buttons than Sumner (they are not part of his calculations), but once she had pressed one of these door buttons and he realized he had missed a button-opportunity and he was very cross.

He was so cross and she was so gleeful that both of them forgot to press the crosswalk button, but it doesn't light up or make something happen instantaniously, so it was missable. I pressed it just in case it increased our chances of making it into the building, past the pastries and toys, and up to the appointment in five minutes, but niether one of them noticed. I also tries to joke with Sumner. I was not teasing, because he says the teasing is when you are trying to make someone mad and joking is when you are trying to be funny. "It's just a button. Here, come press my nose, my finger, my leg. You can press anything." He was not having it.

We walked up to the front door, I was at the front, dragging Sumner behind me, as he is in no hurry to be anywhere anytime and needs to hold my hand whenever we are walking around in public. Ramona was trailing two to five steps behind us because she hates to hold hands. We walked through the rotating door, made it past the food and toys, ambled up the stairs, ran to the free sticker counter (which is often closed), and to the next elevator.

In theory, whoever pressed the inside elevator button before should have pressed the outside button now and vice versa. This is always a key moment. It could all go fine, if they follow protocol. As is more often the case than not, speedy little Ramona zipped up and pressed the button, without concern for what happened before. Since Sumner was keeping a tally of the last elevator button pressing, the button pressing from the last time we were at the hospital, and everytime Ramona has aced him out of anything ever, he got mads and called her stupid or poopy. She countered with stupid or poopy, whichever he missed. Both apologized and both forgave, but everything still needed to be renegotiatied. Now, no matter what happened at the first elevator, he technically should get to press the inside button. If fairness ruled, then Ramona throws a fit, because she doesn't get the push the inside "precious" button.

Somehow, we made it to our destination without Ramona getting caught in the door, even though she held it open for every nurse, stroller, and innocent bystander that gots on or off the elevator. She thought she was the boss of the elevator. On our floor, the kids rushed into the waiting room and tuned into the TV. They had forgotten everything. I laid the upper half of my body across the check-in counter and wished they had some good beer on tap or a cup of tea brewing next to that big printer back there. The administator who checked us in offers me a tissue.

Yesterday I wondered why all of these buttons matter so much. Why the passion, the tears, the drama? I think I am on to something: Sumner and Ramona want to make something happen. When they are the first to press a button they are responsible for making a big machine or a heaving door do something. They feel accomplished. They feel powerful. They feel excited. The thrill is irresitable.

I realized that this is what I too want more than anything. I want to make something happen. I want to change something, someone. I want to impact the world. I want to make a machine move when I press a button. I want to have an influence on my world. That is why I feel angst and torment about what I am supposed to be doing with my life and when I am supposed to be doing it. Right now I see that I am making something happen. The Skelding machine is running a little smoother right now. We are chugging along. The question is, now that we are chugging more seamlessly, where are we going?