Don't Know Much About History

"Our family's cursed," said my oldest.

"Tell me about it," I replied. "It's been that way as long as I can remember."

We were in Savannah. It was snowing. Of course it was.

"Why are we here anyway?" my youngest asked.

"Because I enjoy spending time with you?" I guessed.

"Don't be dumb. Why are we really here?"

"Because your brother wanted to look at a college and I thought we could do some sightseeing while we were down South."

"We're looking at buildings. They have buildings where we live."

It was snowing harder and I was getting a headache. "Be quiet," I said, without much hope.

"Why didn't my other brother have to come with us?" he demanded. "You love him more."

"Yes, I love him more. That's why I left him home with your mother."

"You see?" he exclaimed, turning to the oldest, convinced he'd made his point.

The oldest ignored us. He was studying the map we'd picked up at the visitor center, trying to figure out where we were. He knows better than to trust my sense of direction.

The youngest turned back to me. "How much longer are we going to stay here?"

"Forever," I said.

"For real," he said.

"It'll seem like forever," I said.

He scowled at me until I relented. "I don't know, a few hours," I told him. "Then we're going to Charleston."

"What's in Charleston?"

"Buildings."

"AAARGH!" he shrieked.

"I love you too, buddy," I said.