A bonus post for you tonight! Take it with a grain of salt. There’s a funny lesson at the end.
I often tell my wife that if I were in grade school today (or as we called it in my Catholic school as a boy, “grammar school”) I would probably be labeled with many different things. For instance, I know that I would be “on the spectrum”. Why? As a young boy of 7 I had an obsession with maps. Road maps, atlases, you name it. I remember going to the top of the Twin Towers with my parents. It was my seventh birthday. I remember that I delighted my father, a brilliant man, by looking down at the ground a quarter-mile below and pointing out all the roads.
“Daddy, that’s the West Side Highway! And across the Hudson is the Turnpike coming out of the Holland Tunnel! If you follow that line of cars you can see where it splits and goes off toward Kearny. If we go around the the north side of the building I’ll show you where Greenwich Street is.”
It was an obsession that belied my natural curiosity of everything. I’ve always wanted to know where I’m going, where I’ve been, and what’s all around me. I find roads in particular to be fascinating. Look through this blog and you’ll see that half my life is road trip. And I think I turned out just fine.
Clearly, though, some things are very wrong with our society today. Kids like I was are labeled and discarded. There’s no respect for the value of each individual. Conformity is the key to success. Know what I say in response?
Funk that. Except that the “n” should be omitted and replaced with a “c”.
Without going into the details because I’m sure you can figure it out… My pride and joy cannot bring his favorite lunch to school anymore. I’ll say that again.
He can’t take a peanut butter and jelly to school.
All right, I’m not about to open that can of worms. I set this up to show you something very funny. So, son is a picky eater to put it mildly. And sometimes what works best for us is to, well I’ll just say it. We make him a frozen pizza at night after he’s in bed, get out the pizza cutter, and put a few slices in a Ziploc bag for his lunch. Are we bad parents? NO. And who are you to judge me?! He’s got to eat. And you know what? He’s a damn good boy. Once in a while he earns a pizza day. The thing is he will only eat a plain, cheese pizza.
Last night we almost freaked when we realized that the only frozen pizza in our freezer was chock full of pepperoni.
“Oh crap, he’s never going to eat that,” I said to my wife.
“He will if you take all the pepperoni off before you cook it,” she replied.
“And where shall I put them?” I asked back.
Turns out the place to put them is piled high on top of one-eighth of the pie.
You read that right.
“See, we can’t teach him it’s OK to waste food, so cook it like that and you can have that piece and then we must never speak of this to him. If he knows there was pepperoni on this pie he won’t eat it.”
Just take a look because I almost literally can’t even even.
Now that’s how you pizza. One slice for you, son, and one (heavily laden pepperoni’ed) slice for your old man.