Why Fighting Raccoons is Just Like Having Children by Max Hammer
It’s clearly too early to fully comprehend the situation, but something is off. I stumble out of bed and find both of our cats staring through the sliding glass doors onto our porch and into darkness. Finding my eyes, I trace their sight. Perched atop the railing, two eyes gleam back. Then two more. Then another two. It is an invasion of raccoons. I run for a headlamp and weapon. The headlamp is in my climbing pack and the nearest weapon is a broom. As I run through the house and back to the porch, Amy is alerted to the situation. She joins me as I prod the last one back down the grapevine they ascended.
Seconds later we are on the ground, in the backyard, bathed in moonlight. Our headlamps scan the yard for the green glow of eyes. I have the broom in one hand and a couple of apple grenades in the other. Amy is beside me, wielding a spade shovel for a bo staff. We swing freely and strike occasionally, climb, dart, corral and disperse. The chickens, cats and the majority of the plants are all fine. We are sure the raccoons are fine too, despite major league worthy blows from both Amy and myself. The little creatures are stout. The battle is over, raccoons at bay. But the war goes on for several nights. The smell of funnel cake from The Great Reno Balloon Race down the street surely lured them to this side of town, and they clearly want something from us.
I tell you about this raccoon battle as a way of introducing my story of fatherhood. Stick with me. That moonlit night, I fell in love with my now-wife. It wasn’t the first time and it is not the last. I think it has to do with being capable. As in, when a tribe of raccoons threatens your house and home, who will stand by your side and fight? Amy is capable in many arenas. This quality really rouses my spirit, and when you find someone that stirs your pot, well that’s the first step to baby making.
Max taking a full blarp to the chest during the early days.
Amy informed me she was pregnant on that same porch we defended. I should have known something was up, as she asked me to sit down and join her on the marine blue rocking chairs, a recent wedding gift. She is not typically one to just sit down and hang. “I’m pregnant,” she said, “I’ll see you in a week.” She took off for her long planned bachelorette celebration in Montana the following day. I’ve always wanted to have kids, but I still had many thoughts. Are we ready? Is this a good time? Should I freak out? How much time do I have to pack in a bunch of skiing before this baby comes? How old until babies can ski? I have learned since that if you want kids, might as well just get to it. There’s no better time and you aren’t ready. In the same way, you can’t really train for raccoon fights. The fight comes, and you’re as ready as the experiences that brought you to this point. You will find weapons and your wits and do your best. You’ll do your best because it means survival.
To perform at your best it is nice to have a solid partner, someone to team up with, directing the flashlight, or to be ready with the broomstick as you chuck apples into a tree hoping to bring down a raccoon and shoo it back to the sewer it came from. With children, that same teamwork makes the dream work. Eyelids not quite muscling up yet? Call on your partner to rise and make sure the gate at the top of the stairs if closed while your baby runs at mach speed towards the steps. The gate is always closed because you checked it the night before, but then you double check anyways. You’ll want a partner to complement your skillset, someone to plant the garden while the other builds a fence, one to start the laundry while the other gets puked on and, of course, a glass of water is crucial when the baby is napping on you. Hydration doesn’t care how cute your baby is. More hands means lighter work and of course sharing the wild acts of both a raccoon fight and having a child is the best part of a partnership.
On the third night of battle, Amy was at it alone. I, away for work, woke up to a series of texts that looked a something like this:
11:30 pm: They are back.
11:52 pm: I just home run belted one off of the porch. It took the two-story fall and then looked back at me like it’ll take more than that. I’m amped up.
12:20 am: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nm5Y0vpiGFQ&t=78s
12:27 am: I feel like I’ve been training my whole life for this.
Amy stated this last sentiment again right after giving birth to our son Holden. I have the same belief now that he is in the world and we are responsible for keeping him alive while teaching and providing experiences. My training wasn’t specifically for babies, though from climbing I learned that spotting a fall is only possible if your hands are already in position to catch. Also, carabineers can double for cabinet locks. From skateboarding, I know that you will fall more than you land, and that landing feels better because of that. From skiing, I know the expression of joy, and I crave for him to have his own form of that. And from coaching kids, I know about having patience and allowing a kid to be their own unique person. Much of the credit goes to those who raised me. Parents, teachers, coaches and peers have shaped my faculties, Amy the same. Now, Holden will hone those abilities. And sometimes when we have no direct experience, and our instincts aren’t enough, we just keep at it until we find something that works.
12:36 am: Turns out all you have to do is spray water on them. It’s pretty fun.
When it’s working, the fight becomes a dance. You don’t have to train for a raccoon dance. You’ve been doing it your whole life.
See more from Max @a_maxhammer and Patagonia and check out his movie, The Last Hill (until the next one)
