Technically the last day of school for us is tomorrow, but all assignments having been turned in, tomorrow is really more of a celebration day than a school day. With little for us to do today but fill the time waiting, I figured my son would want to goof off.
Instead he asked me to jog around the house ten times with him as part of his new “healthy living” summer program. Which I did.
But I’m still confused.
Well . . . we made it. There was never any real doubt that we would, but it’s been a long year, and yesterday I was feeling every last second of it.
Still . . . any year you can walk away from is a good one, and all that.
School’s out for summer.
The school year is wrapping up here, and we’re on the final push. We should be able to finish the last of the necessary work today, then there can be some celebration and rest.
I’ll let you know tomorrow how it went.
When I was a kid, my dad used to gripe constantly when we went to someplace like a theme park, so I promised myself I wouldn’t do that when I became a father. And I’ve kept that promise.
Now when I go to a theme park, I get to listen my son’s constant griping . . .
My son: This tastes like juicy water! (Translation: There’s too much water in his juice.)
Me: That’s odd. I was in a hurry this morning, so I didn’t add any water.
My son: In that case it’s too sweet. Can you add some water, please?
Last week I was asked two questions via email, but I only really looked at them today because I was out-of-town (and largely out of contact) all last week. The questions were:
1. How easy is it to tell yourself that because an Evil is Necessary that it isn’t Evil?
2. How often does doing a Necessary Evil just become doing Evil?
I wasn’t originally planning to answer that email today because I didn’t want to just give “tired” answers, but then I realized my tired answers were my answers:
1. All too easy.
2. All too often.
First off, let me say I vastly prefer the redhead in Pirates of the Caribbean as a pirate. As I told three female cast members who were cavorting with cutlasses outside the attraction, I didn’t realize just how much the ride needed more women with swords until I saw it for myself.
But the auction scene now makes zero sense to me.
The other day I got L’s Mother to look at me in horror just by making a simple (and I thought logical) observation as we drove past a metal cross that easily towered twenty to thirty feet above the highway.
All I said was, “They must get really big criminals in this area . . .”
Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it’s done, they’ve seen it done every day, but they’re unable to do it themselves.
I tried the gray stuff, it was . . . okay.
“Lumiere oversells it,”
So the dishes say.
