Nature/Nurture

"I'm going to Norway," my mother said.

"You just got back from the Third World," I said.

"I was in Belgium."

"That's what I said."

"You're making less sense than usual," she said. "Norway's a lovely country."

"What are you going to do there? It's a socialist hellhole."

"It is neither socialist nor a hellhole," she said. "Besides, I want to see the fjords."

"Why don't you go to Michigan instead?" I suggested. "It's cheaper and you can visit Ford headquarters."

My mother closed her eyes for a moment before turning to my oldest son.

"How are you coming along with the plans for your trip to Australia?" she asked him.

"Fine," he said.

"Is your father helping?"

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Well, I am sorry about that," she said. "I did my best to raise him properly but it doesn't seem to have worked."

"It's not your fault, Grandma," said the boy. "He's a horrible parent and I've turned out okay."

"That's true," she mused.

"I love them both so much," I told our dog Lucy, who responded by gnawing on my arm.

My youngest skipped into the kitchen and waved to his grandmother. "But if he's been murdered by crystal meth tweakers, well then we're hmmm out of luck," he sang as he skipped back out. She watched him go, a puzzled expression on her face.

"He's pretty much ruined my brothers," the oldest told her.

"'Ruined' is a strong word," she said.