Last night, sitting out on the back porch under the night light grinding away on a block of wood with a Dremel -- which, given my complete lack of woodworking skill and manual dexterity is like giving an orangutan a chef's knife and telling him to make sushi -- and inhaling enough sawdust to cover a butcher's floor, I found myself wishing Matthew had joined the Sissy Scouts instead, and had corralled his father into helping him make a Bechamel sauce, discerning the differences between Cabernets and Pinot Noirs, mixing cocktails or composing a sonnet. But no, my boy is a mighty Cub Scout, and his embarrassingly metrosexual father's shortcomings are painfully evident as the Pinewood Derby approaches this weekend.
You watch: I'm going to end up inadvertently sanding off my index fingers, leaving me unable to type with the speed to which I have become accustomed. You'll all be sorry then!
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Eagle Scout, Vigil Honor OA, Silver Beaver, whole nine yards of Scouting lanyard, now Pack Committee chair -- and every year i dread the display of my inadequacy as a dad with the making (mangling) of the block o' pine into a Pinewood Derby racer.
I comfort myself with the distinct suspicion that most of the winning dads cheat like Clintons.
Tell us Rod, do you have an extensive collection of Carrot Top VHS tapes?
This sonnet comes to mind. . .
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries and look upon myself and curse my fate. Wishing me to like one more rich in hope, feature like him with (handy) friends possessed, desiring this man's art and that man's scope, with what I most desire contented least. Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, suddenly I think on thee and then my state, Like to a lark at break of day arising, Sings hymns at heaven's gate. For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth does it bring, that then I scorn to change my state with Kings!!
[of the Pinebox D]
Your son's lucky to have you. :)
And I like the sonnet MUCH better for this occasion, than when I'd memorized it on my dad's passing. Still rings true. That Shakespeare.:)
These are the days we'll remember.
In case anybody is still reading this thread:
The odd boy lay down by the football field
Took out a slim volume of Mallarme.
The centre-forward called him an imbecile.
It's an odd boy who doesn't like sport.
Sport, Sport, masculine sport.
Equips a young man for society.
Yes, sport turns out a jolly good sort.
It's an odd boy who doesn't like sport
--Bonzo Dog Band, "Sport (The Odd Boy)"
You really need to hear it for full effect.
Bonzo Dog!! Another shared taste in music! : )
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