The American Spectator

Ignorance is indeed bliss. Those boys have to worry about disappointing the coach but are not very likely to disappoint their little admirers…

MY DAUGHTER, FRESHLY 14, TOOK A POSITION as a counselor in a day camp/day care. She and another girl each receive an extra ten dollars over their salaries for changing the toddlers’ diapers. Now she complains to me that the other girl is really cheating on the deal because she is, um, only doing #1 and leaving my daughter all the #2.

“Well,” I say. “If she is being given a fee for a specific service and she is failing to provide that service, then it is time for the camp to make that fee cease.”

“Daddy!”

“What did I say?”…

THE REPORT CARDS COME in the mail. The teachers write a denser brand of gobbledygook in their evaluations than policemen do in their reports. The poipetrators drive automobiles brown in color and yadda yadda yadda. Here the collective configuration of the characterological proclivities engender the optimistic potentialities.

“What does this mean? ‘Your self-awareness will serve to ensure enhanced advancement in future educational undertakings.’”

“It means you’re doing well.”

“Daddy!”

“What did I say?”…

IN THEORY, I USUALLY SPEND my days slaving away in my home office, producing the written word in various guises and permutations to serve the pleasure of finicky editors. Without kids around, I have been known to fall into the nearest bed on occasion, to take a mentally rejuvenating hour of “inner tranquility” that revivifies the creative faculties. Seen by an amateur, this activity can be mistaken for a nap. It is possible that my son fell into that trap the other day.

“Hey, Dad, what are you doing in my bed?”

“Really, did you pay for it? Show me the receipt and I will be glad to evacuate.”

“Dad!”

“What did I say?”…