Cyrano deDad
On the night before Valentine's Day, I took my 10-year-old out shopping for Valentine's Day cards so he could bring them to his class party on Wednesday. A party that was, of course, postponed by snow and ice and the dead of winter.
Normally, of course, this is a job that would normally fall to my wife. Sue has a better esthetic when it comes to things like this. You know, which superhero du jour set of cards best represents the emotional tone of fourth graders with a sugar rush? Except that Sue was sick in bed, riddled with various and sundry conditions that end in -itis. (Valentine's Day was a real bust around our house)
But as it turned out, it was just as well that I went with Sam.
On our way to the local drug store to pick up the cards, he reminded me that he wanted to get a "special card'' for one member of his class. Once we got to the store, however, he had decided against it.
"I'm not getting a special card,'' he told me. "It occurs to me that this girl shuss-ed me in school today.''
"That's fine, Sam,'' I said, "but if I didn't get a card for Mom every time she shuss-ed me, she'd never get a card.''
After we got a set of cards for the hoi polloi, Sam decided we should take a look at the special cards, just in case.
Here's where my special expertise came in. I know my way around pre-packaged sentiment, and guided Sam through the pitfalls of cards that profess way too much, cards that make their point with double-entendre ("Is this supposed to be funny?'' Sam asked me, handing me a card with a cartoon drawing of a naked lady covered in chocolate) and other generally inappropriate sentiment. Dads are best for this kind of thing. We found a card, paid for it and went back to the car.
Next up was the delicate question of how and when to deliver the missive. This required strategic planning not seen since the days of Omaha Beach. Handing it to her at school was out of the question, not only on egalitarian terms, but if word on the street got out that you were sweet on a girl, your street cred would be shot. No, what we had to do was drop the card off at the girl's house, hoping of course that she didn't actually answer the door.
Mission accomplished. But he doesn't yet know how the card was received. I hope it goes well for the boy.
Normally, of course, this is a job that would normally fall to my wife. Sue has a better esthetic when it comes to things like this. You know, which superhero du jour set of cards best represents the emotional tone of fourth graders with a sugar rush? Except that Sue was sick in bed, riddled with various and sundry conditions that end in -itis. (Valentine's Day was a real bust around our house)
But as it turned out, it was just as well that I went with Sam.
On our way to the local drug store to pick up the cards, he reminded me that he wanted to get a "special card'' for one member of his class. Once we got to the store, however, he had decided against it.
"I'm not getting a special card,'' he told me. "It occurs to me that this girl shuss-ed me in school today.''
"That's fine, Sam,'' I said, "but if I didn't get a card for Mom every time she shuss-ed me, she'd never get a card.''
After we got a set of cards for the hoi polloi, Sam decided we should take a look at the special cards, just in case.
Here's where my special expertise came in. I know my way around pre-packaged sentiment, and guided Sam through the pitfalls of cards that profess way too much, cards that make their point with double-entendre ("Is this supposed to be funny?'' Sam asked me, handing me a card with a cartoon drawing of a naked lady covered in chocolate) and other generally inappropriate sentiment. Dads are best for this kind of thing. We found a card, paid for it and went back to the car.
Next up was the delicate question of how and when to deliver the missive. This required strategic planning not seen since the days of Omaha Beach. Handing it to her at school was out of the question, not only on egalitarian terms, but if word on the street got out that you were sweet on a girl, your street cred would be shot. No, what we had to do was drop the card off at the girl's house, hoping of course that she didn't actually answer the door.
Mission accomplished. But he doesn't yet know how the card was received. I hope it goes well for the boy.
posted by Michael Riley at 10:08 AM
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