Yesterday at school, Coleman apparently got into mild trouble for making and playing with a paper fortune teller, and it was taken away. He made another one on the bus, on his way home from school.
As he was asking me to pick a number, I was still wholly fixated on the fact that he'd gotten into trouble and I said something to the effect of: "Hey, buddy. Do NOT be a 4th grade trouble maker, you got it?"
To which he replied: "I go from 4th grade to America's Most Wanted. That's just great."
Today's moral? It's a fine line between much-loved childhood traditions and a lengthy prison term.
I am from Here, the place I was born From a mom and a dad From toast or oatmeal for breakfast From very cold winters I am from Here Where there's trees from everywhere And sun all around I am from vacations to Nevada And one international flight I am from Utah taking my mom away And very grand birthdays I am from Here
She wrote this a few weeks ago and it choked me up. God, I love that kid.
And Dan, too. Happy birthday, Baby. We'll have so much fun tonight. I promise. The dollar theater awaits…