Dear That’s Life: Punchbuggy Blue!

Issue of June 25, 2010/ 13 Tammuz, 5770

As parents, we all take a certain amount of abuse. We can be embarrassed when our children have a crying fit in the supermarket or will not stop screaming on a flight to Israel, when you’ve only been in the air for forty-five minutes. Our beds are often wrecked before we get into them and I particularly like the random comments that are shared at the most inopportune times. A while ago one of my kids looked at me in a clothing store and, out of nowhere and with plenty of people in earshot, said, “Mommy, everyone picks their nose sometimes.” While that may be true, all I could think was, ‘Thanks for sharing. Here.’ It is always a special moment when your child has to go to the bathroom and that otherwise private fact is somehow shouted from the rooftops for all to hear. We’ve all been there. It’s called parenthood and it comes with no instruction manual.

I never imagined, however, that an abuse I would have to weather would be dodging fists and taps as various Volkswagen models, in a variety of colors, drive by. It was bad enough when the game of “Punchbuggy” was limited to smacking someone on the arm when a VW Beetle drove by. Until the Bug was redone a number of years ago and reintroduced as a retro, hip and trendy car, the punches one received were few and far between simply because the number of Bugs on the road was minimal.

Now, however, the Bug is everywhere and the game has expanded. I would like to meet the advertising genius that decided to expand the game to include all Volkswagen models. Clearly, the brain behind that idea does not have children. Either that, or he or she has no feelings in their extremities. Simply put, the game is out of control and frankly, annoying.

I’ve made sure that the rules are clear. Besides no punching the driver of the car, you also cannot ‘bank’ a VW. Meaning, if you see a VW but have no one around to punch at the time, you cannot put it on hold for later use. That’s just ridiculous. Cars seen on television also do not count in this game — all VWs must be live and in person. In addition, if you punch someone in vain i.e., the car you saw was not a Volkswagen, be ready for two taps to come your way instead. And you must be prepared for retribution should you unload a whole bunch of VW punches on multiple family members. They know where you live and they will remember that the sore spot on their arm came courtesy of you.

At one point I imagined what would happen should we drive by a Volkswagen showroom: mayhem. So in an attempt to bring peace to the world, or at least to my car, I sped past a Volkswagen dealership in Brooklyn as we returned home from New Jersey. There was absolutely, positively no way I was going to tempt fate. Out of the corner of her eye one of my daughters did notice what she thought was a barrage of VWs but could not get a good enough look because of the break-neck speed at which I was driving. “What’s that over there?” she asked. “Oh, nothing, nothing,” I responded, and quickly changed the subject.

I did not want to get a ticket as I am not sure that my VW defense would hold up in court, but it was a chance worth taking. Luckily, my gamble paid off. I spared my fellow passengers and myself the physical and emotional pain brought on by two little words: red one.

MLW