Lately, my 11 year old son Eddie had been acting funny toward me. Usually when I pick up him and his friend from Pee Wee Football, they are talkative in the car, talking about sports and kids in school. For the last week, the two of them have been mostly silent.
Confronting Eddie about anything is like trying to interrogate a Mafia Don. The kid will just lie about everything, take the conversation on bizarre tangents, and in the end make me feel as though I did something wrong. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ve decided to rely on the method parents have used throughout the years to overcome odd behavior in children. I’m assuming it’s a phase, and he’ll get over it.
My wife and I are attending a Halloween party in a couple of weeks, and my wife Megan wants to go as a sexy Indiana Jones. I have a fedora that would be perfect for the costume in a trunk in the basement, so I went down there to retrieve it. When I opened the trunk, everything was tossed about, which was strange since I remember keeping it neat and well organized. Then it dawned on me. For my bachelor party 15 years ago, my brother gave me a gift he said would get me through my married years. He spent hours scouring adult bookstores searching for the most depraved porn magazine he could find for me. We all had a few laughs over it, and then I put it in the trunk along with other things I haven’t looked at since the Clinton presidency. That magazine is missing from the trunk.
When I confronted Eddie about it, he cried immediately. “You don’t do that stuff with Mom, do you?” he asked.
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