Batty

"How do you get the handle off a baseball bat?" my youngest son asked me. We were at the park, watching some of his friends play ball.

"With a saw," I said.

"Huh. That's what everyone says." He started walking away.

Wait a minute.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm going to cork my bat," he said.

"Have you been smoking crack?" I asked.

"Not this year's bat," he said dismissively. "Last year's."

"That bat cost a fortune," I said.

"You got it on sale."

"It's still worth more than you," I said.

"You say that about everything."

"It's true."

"So, can I cut off the handle?"

"No."

He turned to my friend P., who'd been watching the conversation.

"I'm with your dad on this one," said P.

My youngest shook his head and looked at P.'s son, who shrugged his own incomprehension at the crazy world of adults.

"Can I have a dollar for the concession stand?" my son asked.

"Okay."

"How about me?" asked P.'s son.

"Sure," I said.

"Two dollars?" my son asked.

"I guess."

"Can I cut the handle off my bat?" he asked.

"Don't make me kill you," I said.