• Forgive me father, for I have sinned

    Yesterday morning I got a call on my cell phone. It was my mother-in-law calling from my house, where she was watching Beth and making sure she got off to school. She wanted me to talk to my daughter about her suspiciously sudden illness (right before it was time to leave for school).

    I talked to Beth for about ten minutes and convinced her that staying home sick wouldn’t be much fun (I figure a day recuperating without going outside can be rather boring if you’re not really sick). So off to school she went. About an hour later my mother-in-law called me back to reassure me that Beth did get to school. We talked about Beth’s suspicious illness, and she allowed as how it was right after she took her medicine; but we both agreed that she took the same medication ever morning (for months) without getting sick.

    “Yeah, she should be just fine as long as she takes it with food like she’s supposed to. She took it after breakfast, right?”

    “Well, not right after, but I hadn’t been here all that long after you gave her breakfast.”

    “I thought you were going to give her breakfast?”

    “No, Cheryl usually gives it to her before I get here.”

    “Oh crap.”

    If you thought I felt guilty after being wrong about her “sudden illness,” imagine how much worse I felt being the cause. I’m an adult, I can be grown up about this, fast forward to the evening,

    “Beth, I’ve got an important lesson for you here. Listen carefully to what I’m about to say, it’s something called ‘shifting blame’,. ‘Beth, why didn’t you tell me or Mem-may that you were hungry and needed to eat breakfast? You’re old enough to get something to eat if you’re hungry.’”

    Here ends the lesson.

  • One more problem for modern man

    Today I am faced with a dilemma that has troubled men and women folk alike, and for as long as man and woman kind have processed wood pulp to replace those stone tablets. I’m having trouble turning pages with my dry hands.

    The first, and simplest solution, would be to simply lick my fingers. Do I have to remind you about the bacteria levels in your average office? I know where my fingers have been, and that’s precisely why I won’t put them in my mouth. Besides, it seems rather selfish to essentially lick my paperwork, knowing someone else will have to handle it.

    The next option is the box of “Tacky Finger” in my desk drawer. This is one of those items I inherited from the last person to use my desk, about ten years ago. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken chemistry, but I imagine the inside of my “Tacky Finger”, nah, on second thought, the culture dish analogy is a little old. Let’s just say that looking at the outside of the box, I’m given pause to wonder if there may be environmental regulations regarding its proper disposal. Needless to say, I won’t be putting my fingers in there anytime soon.

    The third option is hand lotion. Ha ha! I almost had you there, didn’t I? Like I’d have hand lotion handy.

    Maybe a moist paper towel from the men’s room would do the trick?

  • The first ride

    It started innocently.

    “Beth, I’m not sure you should ride your bike until I can tighten those training wheels, unless of course you want me to take them off?”

    “Alright dad, take them off.”

    Fifteen minutes later we were together on the sidewalk; father, daughter, and bicycle. The father was standing behind it all, grasping the seat. The daughter was astride the bike, imploring the father not to let go. The bicycle was just sitting there, oblivious to it all.

    After running along side for about thirty feet, Beth tells me to stop.

    “Dad, I’d like to try it on my own now.”

    I was ready to indulge her, and she rewarded my faith. She struggled unassisted, feet on the pedals, for about ten feet. That’s where she stopped, feet on the ground, bike still upright. Her very first solo attempt was a success!

    Naturally I hoped, hollered, and generally carried on like an English soccer fan. (Beth thought my chanting strut down the sidewalk was a bit much.) Then I ran inside to grab the camera to record the second unassisted ride. It was the best thing to happen to our house since Adam first slept through the night.

    Next thing I know Beth is asking to ride to her school with a group of friends (it’s a mile and a half away, but it’s practically inside our neighborhood and you don’t have to cross any busy streets). She came home thirty minutes later and collapsed. Apparently there are some things about bicycling that can’t be learned.