Sometimes, some event from the past suddenly resurfaces in memory. As I was sitting her contemplating my lack of any ideas for a post this morning, I recalled a conversation with a long forgotten school friend, not long after my tenth birthday had brought me a much awaited BB gun.
Friend: Wow. A BB gun? Where do you shoot it.
YoungDarwin: In the back yard.
Friend: That's so cool. I want one of these. The first thing I'd do is shoot my sister right in the butt. Do you ever do that.
YoungDarwin: Ummm. No. [Thinking: And that's why I have a BB gun and you don't...]
The fact is, I was always one of those boring "good kids" in most respects. Which is why at ten I got a BB gun, at thirteen I was allowed to buy a black powder revolver and start visiting shooting ranges, at fifteen I was allowed to brew my own wine, etc.
And knowing that I got unusual access because I was boring was one of the things that made it satisfying to remain boring and give my parents few worries. (Other than a tiresome habit of going on for hours about political subjects that didn't interest my mother.)
So if you are possessed of a boring child, make sure that being boring hath its privileges. Sometimes its that quiet, slightly nasty sense of superiority that makes it easy to remain upon the path.
The Yowl and the Pussyhat
9 hours ago