THE SONIC BOOMER
So last weekend, Mark and I took our 3-year-old grandson Skippy to Monster Jam. We did this because we have seen more episodes than we would care to admit of Bigfoot Presents: Meteor and the Mighty Monster Trucks, a Discovery Kids TV show. It was the first time Skippy had been to an arena event, and the first time either Mark or I had deigned to spend any money at all on monster trucks.
We made up for it. To begin with, the tickets were $32 each. They were priced so “reasonably” because they knew kids were coming. There was no age-related discount — a seat is a seat.
Parking was $15. Mark dropped off Skippy and me, then proceeded seven levels underground until he found a space. He was not as fortunate finding an elevator.
In the meantime, I had discovered the souvenir trailer. I thought it might be best to look things over before the madding crush of the after-show crowd.
Big mistake. The minute we approached, Skippy started shouting, “There’s my truck!” Evidently he had a little green truck at home with the endearing name of Grave Digger. And here it was, emblazoned on everything from soup to nuts. Evidently, Grave Digger is one of the stars of Monster Jam. Just my luck.
Because I am a grandma, Skippy walked away from that trailer wearing a Grave Digger T-shirt, clutching an official Monster Jam program and oh-so-proudly waving a Grave Digger pennant. I was left holding an empty plastic Monster Jam bag, so colorful that it is now adorning the refrigerator, so event-specific that Skippy probably would’ve been happy with just that. Nonetheless, the total cost of our visit to the trailer was $45.
Grandpa, huffing and puffing, finally made it to the front entrance, where we were all checked over by security to make sure we weren’t carrying any guns, knives, bombs or anything else you would typically expect at a show for children. Sigh.
Now, we headed for our seats. Wisely, I had bought earplugs for us adults, and Skippy had on the plastic earmuffs and Cat Tractor hat he wears when he accompanies his dad on the riding mower. We put these things in place on our way up the escalator because the noise was already deafening. Skippy looked a bit apprehensive, sort of like we were leading him to the coliseum where the lions were already roaring, waiting for blood. Other than that, he looked pretty cute.
When he first saw the monster trucks, customized to look like bulls, devils, mad dogs, coffins and the like, his eyes got as wide as truck tires. Then he said the most awesome, historic, profound thing. Too bad I could only see his mouth moving.
I must say, the show was great. Worth every penny. In addition to the monster trucks popping wheelies on top mounds of dirt, there were car-crushing landings, doughnut-spins, ATV races and the intermission “show” where awesome earth-moving equipment comes out and fixes the track.
Best of all, there was only one more fee: the rainbow-laced ice that arrived in a cup sporting a piston for a handle and a monster tire for a base. Cost: $15.
Reaction of kid who has never had a sno-cone: Priceless.
