Overheard

At kindergarten round up, R was talking to a boy I vaguely recognized from his preschool class. The boy had started at R’s preschool a couple of months before, and both boys were thrilled to see a familiar face. After we toured the classrooms, I overheard the little boy explaining to his grandma, who had accompanied him to round up, how he knew R. “We go way back,” he told her confidently.

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J stayed home with R from school one day when R was sick. They were listening to The Beatles when “All You Need Is Love” came on. R was looking thoughtful, so J asked him what was wrong. “Dad, The Beatles keep singing all you need is love over and over, but you need a house and other stuff like that too.” (I’m guessing “All You Need is a 401K” didn’t have quite the same ring to it.)

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About 2 ½ hours into a 3-hour car trip, K had had it with being strapped into a car seat and decided that the rest of us should suffer too. She took up a particularly high-pitched screaming routine that is supposed to signal maximum displeasure on her part. R turned to her, and shaking his head sympathetically, said, “It’s a hard, hard life K, but you just have to get through it.” (That’s right folks, Joan of Arc, the Cambodian people under Pol Pot, Nelson Mandela, and my children; all people who have suffered greatly.)