My older brother is a cantankerous fellow. He is impossibly dry and hard. I adore him. He likes me ok. But he constantly says, "I weep for Joe" or "Poor poor Joe." He told me once that I need to go to the shame store and buy some. He says I totally lack shame. He also said he expects me to get weirder as I age, that one day I'll be running around in a huge floppy hat with fat arms calling for all my cats named Mumu.
That day has arrived. And I will likely continue to weirdify as I age. Not only that, but I appear to be married to Hellboy. We live in a sea of nachos and kitties. We have abandoned all pretense of interest in the study of mathematics, preferring to allow truth to quantify itself overtime and wash in on the next available tide.
Maybe I lack shame, but I always tell the truth. Oh dear children, listen up to your strange old mother. You can do without shame just fine. But you must always tell the truth. And resist rigidity and learn to tolerate paradox.
And go make Mama a Salty Dog, would you please?
2 comments:
Oh man, that is our long-term plan, this weirdifying with age thing. I think we are already there, but it isn't so obvious to casual observers. The plan is with age we will drop the illusion of non-weird and just let it hang, arms and floppy hats and all. :)
Not weird. Not even eccentric. Interesting, absolutely. My hope is that being exposed to my unusal behavior and quirky thought processes will help teach my kids tolerance. Right? Sounds good to me. How great would it be for your children to grow into those that embrace the things that wander from the path. That one day my kids can bring home a possible future spouse, smile while I glue fabric to the walls adorned with aluminum soda can tabs and say, "There's nobody else in the world like Mom." That would be a great thing.
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