What matters isn’t how a person’s inner life finally puts together the alphabet and numbers of his outer life.
What really matters is whether he uses the alphabet for the declaration of a war or the description of a sunrise –
his numbers for the final count at Buchenwald or the specifics of a brand-new bridge. – Mister Rogers
Seven-year-old grandson pops in unannounced.
Don’t care who you are, that’s a bad idea.
The kid is too young to know better.
His father too beloved for me to complain.
They were in the neighborhood.
Caught us accidentally sober and straight.
The fat kid asks for a drink.
Should have seen the look of disappointment
startled on his face
as I handed him a cold bottle of pure water.
Uncarbonated. Unflavored.
Later, for no particular reason,
like he’d just had an epiphany,
the little dickens blurts out,
“I’m reading at a First Grade level.”
He said it like I should give him
a family-size chocolate bar.
And I’m looking at him.
And I’m thinking to myself –
took me about a week to figure this out –
dude, you are going into the second grade.
Elementary school is no time to start cruising.
He reminds me of me.