This Too Shall Pass

I spent today at a "seminar," confirming that torture has indeed become standard practice in America.

Actually, it wasn't bad as these things go. I learned a little, saw a bunch of people I like, had a couple of beers afterward with some friends. Following dinner I headed home, arriving shortly after my two younger kids returned from their respective soccer practices.

"Hi guys," I said upon entering. "Daddy loves you! Daddy wants big hugs."

They stopped their bickering long enough to sneer at me and then returned to the task at hand.

I hate bickering. I'm not a big fan of fistfights either, but it's the sniping and whining that make me truly crazy.

"Knock it off," I said. "Hey, did you guys ever find the remote for the DVD player?"

"We didn't lose it," they howled in unison. "You never blame yourself for anything. It's always somebody else's fault."

"Yes it is," I agreed. "You, middle boy, go find it. You, smelly younger one, get in the shower and then help your brother."

About this time my oldest son called. Some wild hair, or more likely some girl, had prompted him to go watch a high school volleyball game after his cross-country meet. Now he needed a ride.

"Fine, whatever, be there in a few minutes," I said. I wasn't out of my suit yet but who am I to stand in the way of young love? "Find the remote or neither of you ever get to watch TV again," I said as I walked out the door. The King of Empty Threats.

When I got home again twenty minutes later my Lovely Bride still hadn't returned from her class and the boys were at it again. This time it had something to do with the younger one's standardized math test scores, which arrived in today's mail. As best as I could tell, it boiled down to a complicated and insane argument over normalization procedures based on the middle one's premise that his younger brother's success was a reflection of the stupidity of his classmates. More important for my purposes, the remote hadn't been found and the youngest still smelled. I shooed them in opposite directions and went upstairs to change.

Hey, what is this? A hole in the bedroom door? How could this happen in the Eden in which I live?

"GET UP HERE!"

As soon as they saw what I was looking at the fingerpointing began.

"He threw something at me."

"He was being a jerk."

"They're both stupid."

"All of you be quiet," I said. "You see this door? This is the Wii you wanted. Instead of that, we get a new door." Strictly speaking this isn't true, for the door with the hole will remain in place until the day I die, but the larger point remains valid.

"I don't want a new door, I liked the old one fine, but here we are. I may as well take some money from my wallet and set it on fire. At least we'd get heat and light. But no, not our family, we just have a hole in the door. Other families, they have nice things, big screen TVs, nice cars, fun stuff. We have piles of broken junk because we're savages. We're animals." I started snorting and grunting and pawing the ground.

Sometimes my kids get a vision of the psychotic break that's coming.

The oldest said, "I have homework" and went back to his room.

The middle one said, "I have to find the remote" and went back downstairs.

The youngest said, "I have to take a shower," and went to find a towel.

The dog went back to her spot in the living room.

I stared at the broken door for another moment and went to finish getting changed.

Soon enough the homework and showers were done and the remote was found. We all drifted back to the kitchen, where we gave the dog her evening treat and they took turns telling me about their days and I decided a broken door is a small price to pay.