Do A Little Dance

Wonderful Wife: “The boy is going to his first school dance tonight.”

Me: “Whoa! What? Should I have a talk with him? Yes, I need to talk to him. What if a girl asks him to dance? Does he know how to slow dance? Or fast dance? He’s growing up so fast. I’m not ready for him to have his first kiss or anything. This is too soon. So much we need to talk about.”

(deep breath)

Me: “Hey, Son…”

(boy runs up)

Me: “So, my boy. Are you excited about the dance?”

Danger Monkey, age 9: “No. I’m hoping me and the guys can have a pickup soccer game or something. Why, did you want to talk about something?”

Me: “Nah, we’re good. Have fun tonight.”

Time Machine

Played “Purple Rain” in the car for the kids. They thought it was nice. I realized they would never have it burned into their souls, blaring from a cheap DJ booth in a middle school gym, wearing shoes that look nice but pinch, hand-me-down jeans and his heart in his throat, praying for the nerve to ask that perfectly beautiful magical girl to dance but instead standing frozen wondering if he just lost some weight and learned to spike his hair like the cool guys maybe she would love him. You’re right kids, it is a nice song. And a helluva time machine.