Super Student to the Rescue

We have reached that time of year when all parents rejoice. At least, the ones who don't have to gather the apples of so many parents' eyes and try to inscribe something on the tabula rasa. It's time for school! The excitement is lost on me. I can't help it. I'm glad that I don't have to worry about them killing each other while I'm at work, but with the boys' return to school comes my return to school. No, I don't accompany them because I'm in the same grade, thankfully. I have to return to the sacred and most hallowed halls of seminary so that I can become equipped to indoctrinate the next generation of students. Well, maybe the generation after that. See, I'm not stopping with my Master's degree. I have warped myself into thinking that it won't be too difficult to get a doctorate with a wife, two kids and a job. Surely, not. Nothing is too difficult for me, I'm super-human. I can deflect criticism with the power of my mind. I can read faster than a limping sloth. I can write theses better than a trained monkey. This doctorate thing should be no problem! Greek? Hebrew? Pah-shaw I say. I know several words in Spanish. I can learn a language that doesn't use the same alphabet (and is no longer spoken). It should be a cakewalk. I always use that excuse: "Well, how do you know what it says? It's a dead language!" They get some vindictive pleasure when the reduce their students to blathering piles of defeated, non-critically thinking undergrads. It's really not fair. But what else do I expect? They paid their dues and it's only right to put us through the wringer.

My only saving grace is that I do like what I'm learning. I get to figure out what all this theology stuff means. I get to look at the checkered past of so many religious institutions and peek at the skeletons in their closets. It amazes me when people steadfastly cling to archaic maxims as if directly from God to man. I can’t help chuckling when someone orgulously quotes a pastor as if his recounting of history is more accurate than what actually happened. I’m all for being zealous, but I think we need to have the facts straight before we start persecuting people because they don’t agree with us. But I digress.

So, as my boys head back to school, so do I. I return to the sacred halls of learning to prove myself worthy of entrance into the holy, ivory tower.

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Let's Get Physical

He he. I'm sorry. I can't stop giggling a little bit.

I am the step-father of a 13 year old boy. They make me giggle. He's headed to the seventh grade in a few weeks and with that comes the aspiration of Junior High Football. He's been incredibly amped about it for weeks. We've been in the backyard throwing passes and making diving plays until he collapses. This is all him, mind you. I'm doing my best to not be that dad that makes his kids do things they don't want to do, but they do them because they want to meet your expectations. Two exceptions: keep your mouth shut with food in it and respect your momma.

In anticipation for the upcoming foray into the mini Grid Iron, he learned that he needed a sports physical. We both had a general physical before he went to Boy Scout camp, but that wasn't a real physical. It was a blood pressure, heart rate, have-you-had-a-heart-attack kind of physical. No disrobing. Sans coughing. So, he hadn't experienced the joy of having your manhood manhandled. I didn't really know if I was going to prepare him. It's one of the vindictive pleasures a parent has to pay back all of the worrying. Needless to say, I hadn't said anything about it until he asked me last night. I was fixing dinner (grilled chicken and spaghetti) and put some chicken out on the grill when he walked out the door and sat down in a patio chair and, very seriously, said, "I need to talk to you for a second." I had to run inside to wash chicken slime of my hands and then I rushed back outside. He was relentless. I couldn't help but grin when the words came out of his mouth, "What happens during a hernia check?" *giggle* I looked at those beautiful brown eyes and just had to tell him. I explained everything to him and encouraged him not to worry. If he wanted me there, I would be there. So, the rest of the evening, I couldn't help tormenting him just a little bit with small, random coughs.

What is it about sports physicals? I remember my first one. It's always the prettiest nurse that takes you back. This does nothing to make you more comfortable. While we were waiting, he saw the nurses and his voice shook as he told me he hoped it wasn't a girl that checked him. Why does the old doctor insist on trying to make you laugh while doling out nuggets of wisdom and examining your nether regions. This morning, it was "Don't be afraid to get hurt, the alternative is just sitting in your house."

I have to say that Tay took it like a champ and was just fine. We were in and out in about 45 minutes and he gave me the old "That wasn't so bad" nod as we got into the car and drove home. I can't wait for football season to start.

P.S. I know you ladies have it 100 times worse, but I'm a guy and he's a guy and I wanted to share.

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